Harry Potter and the Golden Fortress
by Loons Gerringer
Summary: Loons Gerringer's German BookSevenStory Harry Potter und die Goldene Festung, translated by a group of German readers. Chapter Fifteen: In Those Dark Days. Part One: Days of the Skull
1. Coming of Age

**Hi everyone!**

Please note: I am the author of the German story which comprises 30 chapters and was complete in January 2006. Translation is done by **a group of interested **_**German**_** readers** – btw thank you so much for doing this!!

Many of them are members of www.harry-auf-deutsch.de and started this really – er –comprehensive task two years ago. It is now being continued at the forum www.goldene-festung.6x.to

Chapters 1 to 5 were translated by Threecornerjack (aka schnarcher from Harry-auf-Deutsch); for chapters 6 and following I will list the translators at the beginning of each chapter.

**To encourage them to continue, please leave a short review.**

Now have fun reading "Harry Potter and the Golden Fortress"!

**Chapter One:**

**Coming of Age**

The July sun was burning down, subdued somewhat by a thin layer of clouds that promised a thunder storm for the evening. In the mid-day quiet of Privet Drive the voices of children playing, usually quickly hushed by their apprehensive mothers, grew completely silent and the muffled sound of cutlery and dishes came from some of the longingly opened windows.

In number four, a neat little house which differed from the neighbouring houses by no more than perhaps a greener lawn and flowers precisely lined up in their beds, Petunia Dursley raised her voice in a call to lunch.

Pounding steps on the stairs made clear that at least one resident was following this call immediately. A few seconds later, red faced and out of breath, Dudley Dursley slumped on his chair in the dining room.

"Celery sticks and dip again?" he moaned.

Petunia, who was as thin as her seventeen year old son was fat, screwed up her face.

"Dear, you _have_ to keep your diet! Colin Fortescue more or less forced me to take this action. He said he could no longer coach you otherwise."

Dudley grunted while taking a piece of celery with his fleshy hand and ignoring his mother.

Petunia, who was looking pale and rat-faced this summer, stood in the kitchen door irresolute, in an inner fight for some reason. Then she went into the hall and again called, "Lunch is ready!"

No reaction.

"Then don't complain later, Harry!"

As she sat down at the table, Dudley stared at her dubiously. He even stopped chewing for a moment.

"You should be happy if he stays upstairs!"

With a finicky gesture Petunia took a few bits of raw vegetables and picked at the food listlessly without really eating. The silence on the upper floor was weighing on her nerves. She didn't understand her own discomfort: Now the day was soon to come that all of them had longed for so many years, the day her nephew would move out for good and the Dursleys could lead a normal life all year round – now she was finding herself getting more restless every day.

Upstairs, in Dudley's old room, surrounded by Dudley's discarded belongings, a boy lay on a bed, a worn out mattress. His pale and emaciated appearance, for the first time gave him a slight resemblance to his aunt Petunia. He lay, his arms folded under his head and was staring at the ceiling.

Harry Potter had spent most of his first weeks of holiday this way. His big trunk, which bore everything that belonged to him, was neglectfully placed in the middle of the room, dirty socks heedlessly stuck under the nearly closed lid. He hadn't bothered to unpack. The two shelves which had borne some of his books in the past years were now empty except for a layer of dust.

Harry hardly noticed the room anyway. The scenes that were going around in his head over and over again were so glaring and wild that they left no room for boredom. Ever since he left the Hogwarts Express in the usual flock of clamorous fellow students three weeks ago and returned to the Muggle world alongside his aunt Petunia, who was the only one to meet him at the station, everything around him seemed strangely unreal. To his impression he was looking at the world through a thick, frosted window pane; people's voices, traffic noise in the streets – everything appeared muffled and distant. Even the sunlight and the ground beneath his feet didn't seem to have anything to do with him. A few times he even had the upsetting sense that his feet could not feel the pavement underneath, and wanting to catch his breath, found that there was no air to breathe.

It was easier to lay on his old bed with the worn out blanket and leave his thoughts to the scenes that continuously played in his brain without his intention.

He kept thinking – Mum, Dad, Sirius, Dumbledore.

And when he heard the voices of aunt Petunia, Dudley and uncle Vernon – "Petunia, I'm telling you, that boy is taking drugs!" had rumbled through the house the day before – it all seemed so harmless to him. Had he really spent all these years in a continuous scrap with these people, feeling pestered and bullied? Had he really taken their narrow mindedness seriously or their fear of attracting the neighbours attention because of their nephew being a wizard? Vernon's outbursts of bad temper, Dudley's skirmishing, Petunia's bickering – was any of that worth bothering about? They were dim and even mean at times. But hate them because of that? At least they didn't kill anybody.

And then it started again: _Mum, Dad, Sirius, Dumbledore_ …

oooOOOooo

The first thunder pealed over the roofs. A gust of wind blew something through the open window and Harry first erroneously took it for a leaf. But as it started to buzz about the room he sat up with a start.

"Pigwidgeon!"

He jumped to his feet and the tiny grey owl landed on his head. It took a few painful seconds until he was able to untangle himself from his hair, an undignified spectacle that made Harry's snow owl Hedwig, sitting in her cage at the window, turn away pointedly.

But Harry's heart was beating faster, happy to see the little envoy from his friend Ron. The content of the letter tied to Pig's leg was nearly insignificant.

Hastily he unrolled the parchment to read it.

_"Hi Harry,_

_We're inviting you to a surprise party this Thursday. We will pick you up at half past eight tomorrow. Don't let the Dursleys annoy you!"_

Under these lines Hermione had added:

_"We understand that you don't feel like having a party. It's the same with us. Look forward to the surprise anyway!"_

Harry turned the parchment over in wild hope of finding a note from Ginny, but the back was blank, and while he sank back on his bed, it became clear to him that she was only doing what he had asked her to do.

Surprise party! Sure, you only come of age once. Thursday was going to be his seventeenth birthday – this Thursday already?

He jumped up again. Pigwidgeon flew away screeching. Until then Pig had been pecking at him violently in the attempt of drawing Harry's attention to the fact that he would at least deserve water and a few owl biscuits. Hedwig closed her eyes in disgust.

But Harry seemed as though he had woken up after a long nightmare. Outside the wind tousled the treetops; the first rain drops hit the window sill.

As a wizard he would be a man at the age of seventeen. His birthday would free him. Free him of the Dursleys. Free him from the requirement of spending time in the Muggle world. He would be free to live and perform magic in the wizarding world whenever he wanted. He would be free to go wherever he wanted. He had longed for this moment. What plans had he hatched for the immediate future, some months ago! And now –

In his mind he pictured an hour glass with the last grains of sand falling faster and faster.

Down stairs the front door fell into the lock, seconds later the car engine roared. Dudley was off to his training. Then, as he heard someone on the stairs, he remembered Pigwidgeon, sitting on his trunk and nagging. He hoped that aunt Petunia hadn't seen him fly in!

"Come on Pig!" he called at a low voice and opened the door of Hedwig's cage. "Get in here and be nice and quiet!"

He put another hand full of owl biscuits in the cage and the little grey owl followed. Hedwig budged indignantly to the other end of her perch, and as Harry then reached for an old pullover and threw it over the birdcage, she clearly looked offended.

At the moment he had hidden his visitor, the door to his room was opened. Harry turned around with a start and there stood aunt Petunia.

"I – I have to talk to you –," she said.

Harry was so baffled that he remained silent. At no time in the nearly sixteen years he was now living with the Dursleys had his aunt wanted to have a conversation with him. But now she came in, carefully shut the door and turned to Harry, obviously feeling uncomfortable, as this situation was clearly as unusual to her as it was to Harry.

"You badly hurt Vernon's and my feelings last year as you caused this horrible scene with your teacher," Petunia started, referring to last summer when Dumbledore came to pick him up at the Dursley's and had taken the opportunity, to more or less reprimand them for not looking after Harry as well as they should have. "Despite that we gave you harbour once more. On Thursday though, being your birthday, and provided that we correctly understood your teacher, you will come of age – in your world."

Apparently an answer was expected at this point, and Harry nodded.

"He said something like – ehm, we would be able to provide you with some kind of protection but that this would end with your majority."

Harry nodded again.

"That supposedly means that from then on we would be in danger as well, if we continued to be linked to you. Some kind of peril that you must have incurred at that – that school – to which we never wanted to send you, and I hope you didn't forget that."

"Mmh," said Harry.

"You can't stay living here from then on. Uncle Vernon expects that you will have moved out by the time we return from our vacation, in two weeks time."

Petunia looked at him sternly.

"My friends will pick me up on Thursday." Harry said in a low voice. "I will take my things along and – ehm, won't be back."

Petunia nodded in relief.

"I do hope they will behave inconspicuously! This is a respectable neighbourhood and, in the end, I don't want us to be talked about because of you."

But she hadn't finished yet; the really difficult part still seemed to be coming.

"We won't have a further occasion –," she began and didn't look as though she quite knew how to carry on.

Harry understood. The day after tomorrow all three would depart for a holiday to Majorca, and it was unlikely that Dudley and uncle Vernon would both be out at the same time once more. Aunt Petunia didn't want witnesses for this strange conversation and the reason became clear to Harry with her following words.

"I have something for you that Dumbledore – that was his name, wasn't it – gave to me after Lily died. It must be something like an heirloom that I was to give to you on your seventeenth birthday."

She pulled a small package from the pocket of her apron and hesitantly gave it to him.

"For a long time I wasn't sure I should really hand this over to you. But I suppose it's yours."

Harry took the package, and while he was reading what was written on it in Dumbledore's handwriting – "_For Harry, on his seventeenth birthday, not earlier and not later_!" – Petunia continued.

"I suppose that you are really in danger. What had happened to my sister was terrible. And it was all due to this senseless wizard's thing. My parents should never have allowed her to get into that."

She paused for a moment and then looked at him.

"You should try to get out of the whole thing. Go and get yourself a job, there must be something you're capable of doing, although you squandered your school time with this nonsense."

Harry had just realized the unbelievable. She was really worried about him.

And he realized another thing: If there ever was a chance for him to get information with regard to his mother's family, this was it. Wary not to alarm her with too great eagerness, he asked, "What were they like, my grandparents? And when – when did they die?"

Petunia was still squirmy and uncomfortable, her bony hands kneading the hem of her apron.

"They have been – we never got to know details. They were archaeologists and vanished at an excavation in the Iraq. That is twenty years ago now."

Harry forced himself down. No wrong move now, maybe she will continue to talk.

"They didn't have a jot of common sense, got involved in the craziest things and didn't care a bit about the normal things in everyday life!" Petunia burst out. "Always brooding over some potsherd and old scripts, disappearing to obscure countries, excavating for months at a time – no wonder Lily would have it her way. She would have needed parents who would have curbed her odd notions. But no, not Persephone and Edward Evans!" she snorted.

With her such restriction obviously never seemed necessary. Harry though was too enchanted by the sudden outburst of loquacity, as that he could have been annoyed at Petunia's disapproval.

"Where did you live those days?"

"They had a house in London and lucky to them it was in the near vicinity of the British Museum. Whenever they happened to be in England, they could drop in at the museum for five minutes every now and then. The house was sold after their death. I was already married at the time and lived here, and in the same year Lily married this unpleasant young man she had met at her school."

Petunia eyed Harry sullenly.

"Regretfully you have come after him."

"Did you get to know him – I mean, my father?"

"He attended the funeral service that the museum had arranged as it seemed evident that our parents would remain missing. A vain and scoffing guy. But Lily had gotten totally stuck. Vernon and I tried to talk to her, tried to advise her against marrying this man, especially seeing he was hardly older than she was. But she only laughed at us. Well, you know the outcome of that."

"Yes, me," Harry could not restrain himself from saying.

But Petunia wasn't listening. Apparently all of this had been seething in her for a long time, and seeing the Dursleys didn't talk about her family, it all came tumbling out now.

"If only Lily never had started this wizarding stuff, then she would still be alive today."

"Did your parents agree to it? I mean, they were mug- ehm, weren't magical people!"

"Agree? They were completely enthusiastic as Lily started with her antics. She was still a child then. They actually believed she could do – magic. And when she was accepted at this school, they had already found out all kinds of things about this and were fascinated, as they were by anything that had nothing to do with the normal life of normal English people. And I had to stand around at this station with them all those years, to wait for her to come."

Harry was awkwardly touched by these details. That she had already been waiting for her mother at this station – and then later for him.

"Have you possibly got any photos of her? And of your parents?"

Petunia deliberated on this. Again this hesitation Harry had not noticed before, then a strained look to the stairs.

"Stay here. I'll be back in a moment."

She left the room and Harry heard her rummaging around in her bedroom at the other end of the corridor. She was back soon and Harry hardly dared to breathe as he saw the dark green photo album she was holding.

"Well, I wanted to get rid of it for a long time already. I don't want to keep anything from this part of the family. You can take it."

Harry opened the old album immediately. Photos, stuck on black cardboard pages, neatly dated and commented in white ink. Now and then a newspaper clipping. For a short moment he wondered why the people all seemed so immobile, and then it occurred to him that these were Muggle photos. A line inside the cover, tightly written in a tall and vertical child's handwriting, said "This Album belongs to Petunia Evans. January 14th 1968."

"I got that for my tenth birthday." she commented stiffly. "From Nanna Dora, my great-grandmother. That's the reason why it's such an old-fashioned thing with black pages. I don't need it any more."

Harry turned a page and stared in total fascination at the first photos he had ever seen of his family. The photo album Hagrid had given him years ago only held – though precious enough – photographs which had been taken of his parents by their school mates.

"I have to go downstairs and prepare supper. Vernon will be back soon. I hope you will be careful about your decision, what to do from now on, Harry. Don't make the same mistake my sister made. And for heaven's sake don't let Vernon see this old album!"

Finished speaking, she rushed out. Harry just sat there, holding the photo album and the small package, and couldn't believe that it was aunt Petunia, of all people, to give him his most significant birthday presents.

Eagerly he leafed through the album studying the faces.

Of course the photos often showed aunt Petunia, at her school-leaving celebrations, at a ball with an awfully unnatural perm and wearing a frilly dress, finally at her wedding, dated May 27th 1976. And there, that must be them: Harry's grandparents, next to a tense looking bride in a white dress with a veil and the plump groom, facing the camera with a dour look. Persephone and Edward Evans, who looked quite young, both sun tanned and dressed rather carelessly. The picture was taken at the moment when he bent toward her, obviously wanting to whisper something. Or did he want to kiss her?

And there was his mother, whom he recognized instantly although she could have been no more that sixteen years old at the time. She wore a silvery grey dress that went well with her put-up red hair and to Harry she looked very beautiful. She wore no jewellery except for filigree silver ear-pendants. She had a cheeky grin on her face, standing next to Vernon, and Harry could hardly imagine her being his mother. After all, she was younger then than he was now.

On one of the first pages he found a photo showing both sisters together – the only one, as he came to notice. Two little girls, obviously in their Sunday's bests, were standing next to a short and vigorous looking older woman. Although the photo was somewhat faded, her green eyes looked at Harry challengingly. Her hair was white but Harry would have taken a bet that it once was as red as his mother's hair. Under this photo Petunia had written: "June 1968, two weeks before Nanna died".

Harry turned back the few pages to the beginning, hoping to find more pictures of her, who looked so strikingly similar to his mother. But it was the only one.

The last photo dated July 1978 and was rather blurred. It was taken at his grandparent's funeral, as the comment stated. He only spotted his mother on this picture because the tall, lean man, standing next to her, had turned around and seemed to be looking at Harry. It was James Potter, wearing a black Muggle suit, holding his arm tightly around the girl next to him.

Harry swallowed hard and slowly closed the album. He remembered looking into the mirror Erised during his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He remembered a problem he had been pondering on for some time: He had seen his parents and his ancestors in the mirror; many of them had green eyes and evidently originated from his mother's family. His Muggle mother. How could the mirror have shown him a Muggle? He had thought about it a lot but had always missed putting this question to Dumbledore. Had the mirror shown him the family he so much longed for or had he seen his true ancestors?

Now the question seemed a little hypothetic. He reached for the package from Dumbledore and again swallowed hard at seeing the familiar hand writing. Not earlier and not later – did that mean that he was to wait another two days before opening it? He thoughtfully weighed it in his hand; it didn't weigh much at all. Finally he got up and put it into his trunk together with the album. The trunk was in the usual mess but he decided to ignore that.

A piercing shriek from Pigwidgeon, who obviously didn't have any biscuits left or who was simply fed up with being buried under Harry's pullover, got him back to the present. He picked his pullover off the birdcage and dropped in a few more biscuits. And then Ron and Hermione were to get an answer.

While sitting in front of the blank parchment, he started pondering. Of course he would go to his surprise party; at least he didn't want to spoil the fun for his friends. Nonsense. It became clear to him that he missed them badly. Where had he spent the past weeks?

There were so many decisions to be taken!

And there it was again, this breath-taking burden.

He chewed on his quill and looked outside at the dark thunder clouds. As Petunia had so precisely put it, he is endangering everyone concerned with him. And he intended to no-longer submit those who were close to him to this threat. Ron, Hermione. And Ginny, Ginny –

He could feel it with every fibre of his body, the time that he would have to face Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was drawing close. Some years ago he had thought it absurd to think of Voldemort while staying at Privet Drive. But since he had been attacked by a Dementor a few streets along, two years ago, he had realized that Voldemort was real in the Muggle world as well.

No matter what, he would be leaving Privet Drive the day after tomorrow; this had been his intention all along. Then why not go to a birthday party, accompanied by his best friends, Ron and Hermione? After that he could still decide on how to continue.

He wrote:

"_Hi Ron, Hermione,_

_thanks for the invitation. I would like to come; by the way, I'm bringing my entire luggage along. I hope you can solve that problem. I am not allowed to apparate yet, just in case you forgot._

_See you on Thursday!_

_Harry"_

He had had a vague idea of depositing all his belongings at the house in London, the house he had inherited from his godfather Sirius Black and where the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix was located. He could make his way to London, coming from the Burroughs, Ron's home, where the party would doubtlessly be. After that – he wanted to go to Godric's Hollow, where he had lived with his parents until Voldemort murdered them nearly sixteen years ago.

Harry stood up and went over to the owl's cage.

"Hedwig, I've got a job for you! Come on now, you'll be rid of Pig also then!"

Finally the big white owl hopped out of the cage and allowed the parchment to be tied to her leg.

"You have to fly to Ron and Hermione. I suppose they'll be at the Burroughs but I'm not completely sure. You will find them."

Hedwig proudly spread her wings and glided out of the window into the still grumbling thunder storm.


	2. Surprises

**Translation by Threecornerjack. Thank you so much!**

**Chapter Two:**

**Surprises**

After the Dursleys had departed, Harry would have liked to enjoy the peace and quiet in the house but he had to admit to himself that he only found it depressing. He had a bowl of corn flakes and for a moment dwelt on the idea of leaving the remaining milk standing on the kitchen table, as a nice welcome to the Dursleys when they returned in three weeks time. But then he thought it childish, poured the rest away and even rinsed his breakfast dishes.

He could now have watched TV at leisure but that was no incentive either.

The feeling of spending the last minutes in this house did seem a bit queer.

He hoped that they would come soon while he was watching the minute hand of the clock which seemed to be moving far too slowly to the point of showing nine thirty. He wondered if he would immediately have to take his trunk and everything while travelling by flee network to the Burroughs. This perspective was not very appealing.

Harry closed all the windows, shut down the water and switched on the alarm, as uncle Vernon had impressed on him. Then he didn't think it below him to mix some puking pastilles to the, as Dudley believed, hidden sweets. On the contrary, he felt great satisfaction when he closed the lid on the alleged letter case.

At twenty five minutes past eight Harry got hold of his trunk which was already standing in the hall and the cage accommodating Hedwig, still resting from her flights during the previous days, and left the house in which he had grown up. He locked the door and dropped the key in the letter box. Then he descended the stairs and stood on Privet Drive.

The sun was shining in a high, blue sky with fluffy, white clouds sailing along. Harry took a deep breath of summer air and unexpectedly felt a wild happiness. At that moment a small red car came rattling down the street, blowing its horn loudly as it passed him and coming to a screeching halt.

"Harry, it's us!" Hermione yelled.

Harry gaped at the very small car from which his school friend Hermione had peeled herself. Radiant – and somehow transformed – she ran toward him and gave him a hug.

"Happy birthday, Harry!"

"Thanks! Hey, you can drive?" Harry was impressed.

"I wouldn't exactly call it _driving_," said a groaning voice from the front passenger seat. Ron's face showed a green tinge and he had some difficulties trying to get his long legs out of the car.

"Don't listen to him; he must have eaten at least fifty chocolate frogs since we left. Honestly, I thought people would be over chocolate frogs by the age of seventeen!"

"Sure, provided they are as grown up as you are." Ron had meanwhile successfully managed to get out on the street. "Boy, did you see that hair of hers?"

That was it! Hermione's bushy hair had been shortened and now curled around her head at chin's length.

"She had it cut off because she thought it would make her look more mature," Ron said disparagingly. "I think it looks stupid."

Harry thought that it didn't sound as though they had made any progress in their relationship during the past week. But he was happy to see them!

"Do you believe that my trunk will fit in there?" he dubiously asked. "And the cage as well?"

"I recommend you use floo powder. Or take the train!" Ron said. "She drives like a maniac."

"Oh, really –" Hermione exclaimed in indignation.

"It's great that you came! And even with a car! I actually thought we would have to use the chimney."

As he carried his trunk to the booth, Ron asked, "Where are the Dursleys? Hiding behind the curtains?"

"No, they left for Majorca yesterday. That quickens the parting. Let's get going!" Harry put Hedwig's cage on the rear seat and squeezed in next to her. There was a lot of chocolate frog wrapping lying around. Ron squashed himself into the front passenger seat and the car jolted as Hermione headed it down the street. Hedwig hooted in disapproval and then Privet Drive lay behind Harry for ever.

"Any news?" This was the most important question and Harry put it straight away because he was quite cut off, living in the Muggle world. He presumed that this time they would let him have any significant news without him asking.

"Nothing," Ron said. "Nobody understands why. I mean, after all that happened, you-know-wh – ehm, Voldemort would have taken some kind of action. But nothing, silent as a grave."

A badly picked phrase.

Hermione pinned her eyes to the road.

"Where did you get the car?" Harry asked to change the topic.

"My parents gave it to me as a present. They thought I should at least be able to drive a car. I got my licence last week," Hermione smugly declared.

"You can't help but notice," Ron murmured. "You should let Hedwig fly; otherwise she will certainly spew on the seat."

"Where are we going?" Harry inquired while giving his owl a worried glance.

"That's a surprise, Harry. Just wait and see."

After the usual leg-pulling they fell unusually quiet. All three were reluctant to talk about Hogwarts or Dumbledore but all thoughts finally went in that direction. In the end, it was Hermione who broke the silence.

"By the way, now you could surely tell us what you so urgently wanted from McGonagall before we left."

Hard to believe but Harry really hadn't thought about that at all in the past three weeks. He also recalled something else that he had urgently wanted to tell them. "It was about the vanishing cabinet. I told you that Malfoy had repaired the broken cabinet in the room of requirement."

"And that the matching one was at Borgin and Burkes so that he was able to bring the Death Eaters in to Hogwarts that way."

"Exactly. I just had to ask if they had locked that thing securely. Do you understand – during that night everything got so confused and after that it wasn't talked about any more. I was simply afraid they could have forgotten it! I only just remembered that at the station. Well, then I took my broom, went back and –"

"And the train was kept waiting for an hour until you came back," Ron remarked.

"And – what had they done with it?" Hermione inquired.

"They actually hadn't done anything until then. Who knows, maybe they wouldn't even have found it, without someone who had already been in that particular version of the room. In a joint effort we then found that thing and put it in McGonagall's office. They sealed it with all kinds of spells. They didn't want to destroy it, just in case they might still need it some day."

He again saw himself marching up and down the corridor on the seventh floor, worried that he might not be able to reopen the room of requirement. But it worked and he was able to lead Hagrid and McGonagall to the vanishing cabinet. While Hagrid made an effort to carry the cabinet out of the room, he tried to find something else. Luckily, Professor McGonagall had already returned to the corridor.

"And then – well, I looked for the book that had belonged to the Half-Blood Price. I had hidden it near by." Harry stopped talking. Thinking of the book – a thought that led him straight to Snape – he felt his insides contract.

"You got _that_ book out of there? After all that's happened?" Hermione snapped.

"Watch out!" Ron screamed. "You're driving on the foot path!"

Hermione got a better hold of the steering wheel.

"That was just the reason I wanted the book back," Harry replied. "But it was gone."

"It was _gone_?"

"Hermione, please stop the car while you're so agitated," Ron begged. "My stomach can't put up with any more of your jolty driving."

"Ron, don't you understand what that means?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Harry will have to buy a new book _Advanced Potion-Making_," Ron said.

"He took it with him." Harry's voice was full of disgust. "I'm sure he knew where I had hidden it. He must have read it from my face when he asked me. I don't know how he did it – if he really returned after all that – but it was him, I'm sure."

A moment of gloomy silence followed.

"Let's not talk about Snape, okay?" Hermione finally suggested in a low voice. "It's your birthday today and we want to celebrate."

oooOOOooo

Around them the traffic was continuously growing heavier and Harry wondered why they were going into London. As, once more, a chorus of horns sounded from behind them because Hermione again stalled the car at a traffic light, Ron said "Why don't you shift to flight gear?"

Hermione gave him a nerved side glance.

"Honestly, Hermione, let's leave the car and take the – the subway. I already did that with dad a few times."

"I got to Little Whinging too, didn't I?"

"Yes, but you barely managed even that. And there is far more traffic now! And you've been driving for a fairly long time already. I mean, we did want to have a party today, didn't we?"

A few minutes later Hermione missed the required exit and was getting more irritable. Finally she drove through a maze of streets in total despair as all of them turned out to be the wrong ones. Harry was wise enough not to contribute to the nagging going on, but in the end Hermione said, "Okay. We'll take the subway. I'll just drive the car to my parent's place."

"They live in London?" Harry asked in surprise, although he had never thought about it. He wondered why he had never lost a thought about Hermione's Muggle origin. Then he came up with an idea. "How did your parents cope with hearing that you are a witch? Didn't it shock them, as they found that out – and heard of Hogwarts and so on?"

"To their mind, everyone has to make his own fortune. Apart from that, they are very busy with their dental practice – I don't suppose they spend much time thinking about it."

After this they grew quiet again and Hermione found the way to her parents' house in the end and luckily the next subway was close at hand. In the very crowded train Harry had a hard time with his trunk while Ron, holding Hedwig's cage, was getting increasingly angry and attracted the curiosity of the other passengers. It was a relief to everyone when Hermione finally announced that they had to get off.

"We're on our way to Grimmauld Place!" said Harry as they had made it to the surface and the sunshine.

"Surprise!"

"That was my suspicion all the time while we were heading into London."

"Initially we wanted to have a ball with you in there," Ron said while sullenly looking at the front of the pub directly opposite them. "She didn't want to."

Hermione ignored that. She concentrated on reading the sign posts.

Harry badly wished that his trunk wasn't so heavy or that he could at least do magic. He was convinced though that a trunk floating on air in the middle of London would not exactly be inconspicuous.

"Did you realized that it was really good luck that you came to Sirius' house last year?" The question came from Hermione who had obviously now found the right way and was striding ahead at a good pace.

"Why?" Harry panted.

"You wouldn't have been able to get in this year. Not after Dumbledore –"

"Are you talking about this secret spell, _fidibus_ or whatever?" Ron asked while carrying Hedwig's cage without much effort but to the inhabitant's discontent.

Hermione rolled her eyes in anguish. "_Fidelius_ Charm! Yes, exactly."

"Well, I didn't really get that anyway."

But the matter became clear to Harry just then. "Oh damned, you're right! He was the secret keeper to the whereabouts of it and that means that only people he confided in can find the house. Moody showed me a note with the address written on it by Dumbledore."

Ron nodded. "Dad showed us something like that, too."

"That also means that the Order cannot admit any new members. At least not at these headquarters," Hermione continued a little complacently.

Harry thought that there was even more to it but at that moment Hermione cried out: "Oh, there it is!"

Right enough; as Harry looked around he recognized Grimmauld Place although it had been night time when he had seen it previously and not bright sunshine. He was wondering how they could stay unnoticed, entering a house that could not be spotted, with all these people passing by. Only a few steps further they had reached number eleven and stopped hesitantly.

"Now what?"

"Let them pass first," Hermione whispered, nodding her head toward a young woman with a pram. Their eyes followed her and she stopped in front of number thirteen of all places and tackled the difficult task of pulling her keys out from underneath nappy packages and leek sticks.

"Completely concentrate on the right address now!"

Harry felt like standing in front of the room of requirement. But it was easier here. As previously, the front of the house just pushed itself between the previously neighbouring houses. As they stood on the front steps, they heard the baby in the pram cry while the woman dropped the key and bent down cursing.

Hermione, Ron and Harry looked at each other as they faced the snakelike knocker.

"Boy, it's _your_ house," Ron stated with a bit of envy.

"I'm glad to get rid of the trunk!" Harry said. He was not as happily surprised as the others thought him to be. He didn't recall Sirius' house being a place that made him feel at home.

"Why don't you just knock?" Ron encouraged him.

"Ehm – you seemed to have forgotten what would happen?"

"Come on!" Hermione said with a grin.

So Harry knocked and seconds later Fred and George stood in front of them.

"At last! We were sure Hermione would take you to the junk yard. Tonks has been laying out the table for hours!"

And covered with a lot of hallos and best wishes Harry entered the house of the Blacks', left to him by his godfather Sirius. Ron and Hermione followed. He didn't get far, staring in amazement at the light and friendly hall, when an aria from a grand opera resounded just as though it came from a radio someone had turned to full volume.

"When did you get a radio?"

"You've got one now, Harry," Hermione giggled. "But it's only got this one station! Listen closely!"

As Harry listened, he recognized the words that the singer presented with a broad coloratura: "Filth! Scum! Monstrous products of dirt and vileness! Half-bloods, mutants, henceforth from here! …" And so it went on. The three newly-arrived stared at each other and then burst out with unquenchable laughter.

"George had the idea!" Ron spluttered. "We just didn't get the portrait of Sirius' mum down off the wall and she didn't want to shut up either."

"So we just stuck a song spell on her; Hermione found that out."

"_Cantate_! Got that from Gilderoy Lockhart's _Break with a Banshee_."

"Luckily at least one of us read his collected works."

"And what did you do to the entrance hall? It used to be so dim."

"Scrubbed, painted and tidied –"

"Not only here, you will be –"

"You can show him the house later!" George interrupted. "Let's get something to eat! Mum will kill us if we let everything get cold."

"Is she here too?" Harry had already wondered that only so few Weasleys had shown up.

"No, all the others apologize for not coming. They have too much work because of Bill's wedding in two days time. They couldn't spare more than three of us. And we will be leaving straight after we finished eating."

"But mum cooked for you. We had to apparate with three giant picnic baskets. Wouldn't like to imagine what we would look like now if anything went wrong," Fred ended his explanation.

Harry felt disappointed that Ginny hadn't come. He noted the absence of Molly Weasley with shameful relief. He could not have borne her solicitude and motherly care at that moment.

"I had forgotten that Bill's wedding is on the day after tomorrow."

"You're lucky!" Ron sighed in exasperation. "We have been smothered with silk fabrics, plans of table decoration, seating orders –"

"Besides bursts of tears and a general overdose of Phlegm," George added. "At least we can always sneak away to the shop."

Still astounded Harry followed the others to the dining room on the ground floor, flooded with sunshine, cleaned and endowed with light coloured furniture. The long table in the middle of the room was nicely set and loaded with steaming dishes. Harry was very happy as he noticed that Lupin had come too. Remus Lupin, a little more grey, came toward him smiling.

"All my best wishes, Harry."

"Sit down everybody. The wine is finally uncorked, too," Nymphadora Tonks called, holding two opened bottles while she tripped into the room.

"We should have employed a new house-elf," Fred said to George.

"But where will you find one with hair as red as tomatoes?" George answered and caught an angry look from Tonks. Her hair now really had the colour of a beautifully ripe tomato, leading Harry to the assumption that things were going well between her and Lupin.

At least somebody is happy, he thought.

He sat down next to Lupin and the look of the meal Molly Weasley had prepared made his mouth water. As all of them had found a seat another guest walked in the door.

Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody looked hurried but totally in his element.

"Seem to have just come in time!" he said while looking at Harry across the table with his two different eyes.

"No speech now, Alastor!" Fred and George called simultaneously. "We have to have something to eat first!"

Moody had already opened his mouth but now closed it again and sat down. "Well, boys, you're right. It really looks too good."

And so everyone dug in. Moody didn't get up again until everything had been eaten up.

"Hope you can put up with a few words now. Harry, I would like to extend warm congratulations to you on your birthday and majority. I'm also speaking on behalf of all the members of the Order of the Phoenix."

Tonks poured more wine and he raised his refilled goblet. "We also want to express our sincere gratitude for your consent to our still using this house for our headquarters. As you can surely imagine, most of us can't stick around much lately." His scary face saddened at that for a moment. "This day is not solely a happy day. You had a very special protection and now have lost it. For that reason Remus Lupin will from now on keep an eye on you continuously! He will also join you at Hogwarts from this September on and stay there as long as you will."

Harry felt Ron and Hermione look at him and avoided their eyes.

"We hope that you will successfully finish your last year of school despite all of this and then start training to be an Auror. We would all be happy – honoured if you would become member in the Order of the Phoenix after you finished school."

"Ehm – thank you all," Harry said under the impression that a reply was expected. "To be honest – I don't yet know where to go from here."

You don't know what I know, he thought with a pang of anger. Voldemort won't ask if I have successfully finished school.

Moody and Lupin sized him with sharp intent.

"Is it certain yet that Hogwarts will keep up teaching?" Harry asked to break the silence.

"The school remains open and Minerva McGonagall is the preliminary head mistress," Moody replied. "We have assigned more guards to Hogwarts as well."

Worked ever so well last year, Harry thought.

"And the number of Aurors the ministry detached to looking for Snape and the young Malfoy has also been increased."

Snape! Harry now recalled what he had wanted to say earlier on. "Snape can get in here any time!" he burst out. "He was member of the Order!"

Moody and Lupin exchanged glances.

"We're aware of that. This house is under constant guard. Let's call it a calculated risk!" Moody growled. "At least he can't take anyone with him."

"Snape – a calculated risk?" Harry no longer tried to control himself. "As far as he is concerned the only thing that can be calculated is his unpredictability!"

"Harry, that's not the topic now," Lupin said quietly but decisively. "You should really return to Hogwarts. To be precise, it is the safest place the community of wizards presently has to offer."

Harry looked at him doubtfully.

"How would you feel about giving Harry his presents now?" Hermione suggested because she sensed that Harry was feeling very uncomfortable at the moment.

"Good idea," Ron answered.

"I'll clear the table," Tonks offered.

"Hey Tonks!" Fred called. And George said, "Never mind, Tonks!"

Both waved their wands in the direction of the table. It was cleared immediately. Even the gravy stains had left the table cloth. They heard a low, orderly clanking noise from the kitchen.

"And now all things nicely back into the baskets."

"Mum is very attached to her dishes, you know."

Tonks, notorious for her clumsiness, snorted. But George now turned to Harry.

"Originally we had planned to give you a package of _Potter's Practical Pastilles_, for the name of course but also because you're a man now –"

"But since we've got the shop those are always out," Fred added. They smirked. "An old house remedy rediscovered: _Potter's Practical Pastilles_ – and HE will stand up like your wand!'"

"Boys, there are ladies present!" Lupin warned.

"Oh well, what ever. We decided to choose a second highlight from our collection," Fred pompously declared and held something out to Harry that looked like a fat roll of adhesive tape. "Extendable ears, the improved version," he explained because of Harry's puzzled look.

"We thought the transparent ones far less conspicuous," George added. "And that's from us as well."

He presented Harry with a small cardboard box bearing the inscription _Snails and Wails_. Harry extracted a round object from it and taking a closer look, found that it was a glass flask formed like a snail's house. A small piece of string was attached to it.

"A product from our new collection called _Spray and Flee!._ We have just got it ready for distribution now and you're the first person to get one," Fred said.

"Fits nicely in your hand. And to avoid loosing it in the wrong moment, you can wear it like a bracelet," George complemented smugly.

"Oh, _no_!" Ron exclaimed. "You didn't really bottle _that_! I should get a share of your earnings."

"He badly suffered for it, our Won-Won," Fred admitted. "It took us quite some time until this worked the way it did with Ron's broken wand."

"It's a Snail-Vomiting-Spray, Harry. You remember that curse against Malfoy which went wrong in our second year?"

"I don't think anyone who saw you then can ever forget that," Harry replied, looking at the would-be harmless flask with both disgust and fascination. He very well remembered how Ron had at regular intervals throughout several hours disgorged loads of snails.

"Since then they have always made fun of me because of it –"

"We tried all sorts of things until we finally got it. Actually cost us a wand."

"Make sure you don't get that on yourself if you spray it at someone," George warned. "There's a good reason we called this series _Spray and Flee!_ We've got a few more nice things planned and hope to be seeing you at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shortly."

"And now we'll show you our birthday present!" said Hermione. "Come along!"

oooOOOooo

Harry thanked Fred and George – and spent just a short moment wondering if _Snails and Wails_ would possibly come in handy when fighting Voldemort. Then he followed his friends who were leaving the dining room. Lupin joined them.

Once more he admired the change of appearance in the entrance hall. The floors everywhere in the house were laid with black stones that had looked dull and greasy when he last saw them. Meanwhile they had been abraded and polished, leaving them shimmering in a dark black-green like the surface of a forest lake. It might still not be the floor he would have chosen for his house but undeniably looked quite beautiful. The entire snake adorned little tables, the sinister portraits – with the exception of Mrs Black – had disappeared from the hall and the stair way. As Harry passed her this time, Sirius' mum in her dark frame just closed her eyes in disgust and pulled a mouth as though she had to swallow something particularly bitter. Harry thought that to be a clear improvement. His mood was even better when he found that the panels with heads of the Blacks' former house-elves no longer decorated the walls above the stairs.

The stairs to the left led to the first floor where the drawing-room could be found, in which they had previously spent so many hours looking at the queer things that had been collected by the Black family. He was astonished to find a new wall here with a beautiful door of carved dark wood. Hermione stood in front of it and turned to Harry beaming. There was a knocker on the door formed like a golden snitch. Above it there was a sign that read _Harry Potter_.

"Well, what do you say?"

"Hermione let him go inside first!"

"These are your private rooms!" Hermione proudly announced as she opened the door and beckoned Harry inside. He followed her on the corridor, now much friendlier due to numerous additional lights – and then came the drawing-room.

It was a large, oblong room and the sunshine of a summer afternoon poured in through the double-winged door from the balcony on the longer side of the room. There had been moss green velvet curtains here before, which, in the years of neglect, were eventually inhabited by a large number of Doxies. Harry hadn't even known that there was a balcony behind them. Now he could hear the wind in the branches of the two chestnut trees outside.

The horrible glass cabinets, the olive coloured tapestry, the musty carpeting and the ancient, rat-gnawed furniture that Harry well remembered, had all disappeared. Instead, the room now looked wide and fresh due to the pale green gold colour the walls had been painted in, and the stone floor showed this shimmering smoothness, now and then covered by light coloured heavy woollen carpets. There was an ample collection of comfortable looking armchairs, upholstered stools and two sofas arranged around a low table in front of the fire place. The other side of the room was dominated by a large, unadorned desk made of dark wood and the walls behind it were covered with floor to ceiling book shelves made of the same wood. The escritoire that had harboured the Boggart was nowhere to be found.

"I simply can't believe it!" was the most that Harry could say. He was really speechless now.

Hermione opened a door next to the shelves on one wall. Harry entered a very much smaller room with a window from which he could also see the chestnut trees. The only furniture in here was a low and broad bed and a spacious wardrobe, made of the same wood as desk and shelves in the drawing room. Over the bed, fixed to the wall, there was a giant poster of the _Chudley Cannons_ presenting a wild chase for the snitch. Harry let himself drop right across the bed – _his_ bed, his first own bed if he wasn't just dreaming.

"Crazy!" was his only comment.

"So, you like it? I wasn't sure if we should really take this dark wood and to Ron the green gold colour is just embarrassing but –"

"Hermione, just stop! It's great! Simply tremendous! I love you both! And the green gold as well!"

For a short moment it looked as though the Golden Snitch would fly straight out of the poster into the room, followed by the _Cannons_' seeker.

"How did you ever do all this? And when? This was nothing but a horror cabinet before!"

"All the Weasleys helped," Hermione said with a radiant smile.

"Except for Percy, of course," Ron murmured.

"We didn't really get started until the holidays. I mean, it had been decontaminated already and Mrs Weasley had abraded the floors and cleaned everything properly last year. And so on."

"Well, we didn't know until last year that Sirius had left you this house. The Order will continue to meet in the kitchen down in the cellars so that you will always find something to eat. By the way, you've also got a bath room, right here."

"And the remaining wings of the house are for guests' rooms where mainly Moody and I will be staying frequently," said Lupin while he stopped in the doorway. "To be quite honest, I will be here most of the time I don't spend travelling. I'll be a constant guest of yours, so to speak, Harry."

"You are always welcome," Harry replied and meant it.

"I've got a present for you, too," Lupin said and handed a long and narrow box to Harry, who opened it and took out two quills. "These are port keys, approved ones!" he added on seeing the alarmed look on Hermione's face.

"You can take one along with you and leave the other one on your desk or so. That's the way you can always return to your house."

Harry first stared at the quills and then at Lupin.

"I had heard that you don't like apparating much," he explained with a smile.

"And he hasn't got his licence yet," said Ron.

"Thank you," Harry said with a deeply moved heart. "Everybody!"

On returning to the drawing-room he asked: "Where did all the belongings of the Blacks go?"

"Oh, you can see the few remains here!" Hermione replied and gestured to the long wall opposite the balcony.

In the same place as before was the ancient wall hanging with the family tree of the Blacks. Harry hadn't noticed it when he came in first. The grey goblin didn't even look that bad on the pale green wall and the gold embroidery matched the gold part of the wall colour.

"We couldn't get it off," said Ron. "Nearly everybody tried but even Hermione gave up after a while."

"The remaining things are up-stairs in Mrs Black's old room," Hermione continued.

"We cleaned everything and put it in the cabinets," Lupin remarked. "We didn't throw anything away after Sirius – died."

"The books went into these shelves," Hermione hurried to explain. "There are some very rare ones too and lots of the kind that are strictly locked up back at Hogwarts."

Lupin left them; he wanted to have a word with Moody before the latter would leave the house. When finally Fred and George had also dropped in and said good bye, the three of them were left on their own.

Harry decided to inaugurate his new rooms by taking his things out of the trunk and stowing them away in the wardrobe and the shelves. Three weeks in the trunk were definitely enough. While Hermione inspected the Blacks' books and Ron made himself comfortable in an armchair, Harry dug musty clothes and books out of his trunk and piled them to heaps and stacks around him.

"They really had a lot on black magic," Hermione murmured excitedly with her nose in a book. "You can't get your hands on anything like this at Hogwarts."

Harry grabbed an armful of books and started putting them on one of the empty shelves.

"Hey, man!" Ron was astonished. He had taken the trouble to hand some of the books to Harry and then reached for a book one shelf up. "Look, that's _Advanced Potion-Making_! Lucky that Sirius' school books are still around!"

"Yeah, fine." Harry wasn't very enthusiastic when he took the book Ron handed to him, to sort it in with his other school books. He wasn't sure he would still need school books.

"Ugh, that's awful!" Hermione said and closed a big book, bound in green leather, with a slam, rousing up the dust. Then she saw Harry's face. He stood there, frozen and looking at the book he was holding in disbelief. "What's wrong?"

"It's – _his_. The book that had belonged to the Half-blood Prince!"

"Rubbish! That's impossible, isn't it?" Ron looked over Harry shoulder. "Oh boy," he said quietly as he recognized the familiar tiny, scribbled, hand written comments all over the pages. Hermione and he jumped when the book hit the floor with a loud thump after Harry had dropped it.

"I don't want it any more. I don't even want to touch it!" he said white lipped.

"So he's already been here," Hermione whispered appalled. "That much to the house being guarded continuously! Snape must have been here! If it was really him who took the book from the room of requirement."

"Who else could have done it?"

"Why should he give it back to you?" Ron interjected sceptically. "Considering that he was keen on having it back?"

"To – to warn us. Show what he's capable of. That's a threat!" Harry stammered while trying to get the picture out of his head when Snape –

"_'I'm always one step ahead of you'_ or something like that."

"Exactly!"

"Not so hard to do, by the way he strides around," Ron remarked.

This was enough for Hermione. "Couldn't you just stop? You're making stupid comments all day. It's NOT FUNNY!"

She picked up the book and Ron's face twisted.

"To my mind you're just getting too worked up about this. Snape surely had better things to do than to rush to the headquarters of the Order to return that book to Harry. It must have been somebody else, who knows, maybe even Hagrid."

"What a lot of nonsense," Hermione snorted "How would he have known, not counting all the other difficulties? No, it must have been Snape."

She turned a few pages. On doing that her eyes fell on a comment titled _Sectumsempra_ and she slammed the book shut in disgust. "We have to tell Moody this immediately. They have to reinforce the guards."

Then she put the book in the shelf holding Harry's other school books. "Maybe you will need it some day. It's no doubt an advantage to know his particular recipes and spells."

"That's exactly what's bothering me," Harry said wonderingly. "Why does he want me to know them?"

"By the way, Moody is just about to leave," Ron reported. "I can hear him down stairs."

They rushed down the stairs and found Moody just saying good-bye to Lupin. With a surprised look he saw them coming.

"What's up?" he asked anxiously.

"Snape was here!" Harry gasped. "He – he put a book in the shelf up-stairs that only he could have had." As far as possible Harry tried to avoid going into details.

Again Moody and Lupin exchanged glances.

"He could come in here whenever he wanted!" Harry exclaimed. "I mean, even we could mix the Polyjuice Potion. He wouldn't need more than that and walk in here, being anyone he wants to be."

"Nonsense!" Moody snarled. "You shouldn't think us that incautious. There are a lot of defensive charms around this house. One of them is against Polyjuice Transfiguration."

"He might have gotten in here shortly after fleeing Hogwarts," Harry suggested. "Nobody here could have immediately been informed about what had happened."

"It's six weeks ago that he last came here," Moody concluded. "At that time he only brought a stock of Wolfsbane Potion for Remus and left. Don't think he spoke more than three words."

He raised his hip flask in greeting, apparently wanting another swallow from it and stalked to the front door on his wooden leg. "See you tomorrow. Have to go now!"

The door slammed shut.

"Let's have dinner," Ron suggested.

"Good idea," Hermione agreed. "We've got a birthday cake down in the kitchen."

"You're not taking it seriously enough!" Harry said.

"You heard what Moody said," Ron called on his way down the stairs. "And _he's_ really a paranoiac."

In the kitchen, a vault of coarse stone which didn't seem to have changed, they found Tonks who was literally beaming when she saw Lupin.

"I would nearly have gone upstairs to see what happened to you," she said, standing up from the table where she had been brooding over a roll of parchment. She put an arm around Lupin who pulled her close, smiling.

They all sat around the table and had finished their first piece of cake when Hermione said something that had been on her mind all day. "Harry, you will return to Hogwarts with us, won't you?"

At that moment the pleasantly drowsy feeling had gone. Harry choked at a mouthful of cake.

"Was that really in question?" Lupin asked calmly.

"Yes, and it still is," Harry answered edgily. "I – I can't explain that in detail now and I still have to think about it."

"Honestly, you've had weeks to think about it!"

Harry looked at Ron and was ready for an angry reply. He stayed silent though on seeing the fear in Ron's face: fear that his best friend was being serious about leaving school a year before final examinations.

What had he been doing these past weeks? Spent the time lying on his bed, staring into space. As queer as it seemed, he hadn't been thinking about the future. Now everything returned to his mind and there was the need to make decisions. And all that with a piece of treacle cake sticking in his throat.

"I – I'll go to Godric's Hollow first of all," was what he was surprised to hear himself say. Apparently his decision had formed even without him thinking about it. "I'll just have to see what will follow then."

"Godric's Hollow?" Tonks asked.

"We'll join you," Ron and Hermione both said.

"No," Harry replied. "I mean – please don't be angry at me – I know you want to help me and – but I have to do that on my own."

On seeing their angry faces he felt helpless. They were hurt and he couldn't really blame them. "We'll talk about everything afterwards!" he insisted.

"When do you want to go there?" Hermione asked wryly.

"Tomorrow."

"Bill's wedding will be the day after," Ron interjected.

"I'll try to be on time!"

"Harry, you know, you'll have to bear my company in any case, don't you? You heard what Moody said. And I take that very seriously," Lupin quietly remarked.

oooOOOooo

Some hours later Harry was on his own, sitting in front of the fire place in his new drawing room. He was unhappy because the day had ended on a discordant note. Especially Ron and Hermione had made such a great effort to make his birthday a pleasant day. In the end they had sat together in a sullen mood for a while before they parted somewhat intransigently to the guest rooms in the other wing for the night.

The warm and slightly stale night air of London came in by the opened balcony doors. Harry found it strange to be sitting in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and hear the London traffic noise. A car horn was blown so that he didn't immediately hear the knock on his door.

"Harry, are you still up?" It was Lupin who entered the drawing room hesitantly.

"Come in!"

"Harry, you don't exactly look happy," Lupin said while taking a seat opposite to Harry.

"They all tried so hard to give me a good time, to cheer us all up. But it doesn't work. Everything is just too awful." And I'm not sure they feel the same way about it, Harry thought. His impression was that Lupin's emotion was similar to his own. "I don't want to endanger them any further! The thought of it makes me sick – anyone who gets too close to me could be the next victim!"

"But you should let them take their own decisions and then accept these. You need your friends, Harry."

For a moment Harry thought Dumbledore had spoken to him.

"I have to kill Voldemort."

Now it was said. Lupin didn't seem surprised.

"And before that, I have to find a number of – things and destroy them. I needn't try to find Voldemort otherwise."

"I assume you're talking about Horcruxes?"

Harry was too tired to be astonished. He simply nodded.

Lupin gave him a long, compassionate look. "Despite that, you should return to Hogwarts. It's your home. And there are some useful things you could learn. Mainly Occlumency – as I would like to remind you again."

"I suppose, I'll never be good at that," Harry grumbled. "And what use would it be against him; he knows what I want anyway."

"You shouldn't solely concentrate on Voldemort, Harry, do you understand? That's exactly what he wants. He wants us to see only the darkness. The Dementors will have an easy job if we forget what makes our lives worth while," Lupin said.

"Well, the thing is – I'm so angry! I want him to pay for it! I want to see him suffer!"

"That's understandable. Voldemort –"

"I don't mean him, at least not only him. I mean – _Snape_!" Harry spit the name out and unconsciously clenched his fists.

Lupin looked at him and Harry thought that he looked very tired.

"Harry –"

"No! Don't even start to try finding any kind of explanations for what he did! I don't want to hear them! He's a murderer and a traitor! He betrayed my parents, provoked Sirius to the point that he ran toward his own death, and Dumbledore – Dumbledore –" He couldn't speak anymore. His mind returned to Snape's face, staring at Dumbledore as he helplessly rested against the wall. His face showed only hatred and bitterness before he threw his Avada Kedavra at Dumbledore, the only one who had completely trusted him. There was no forgiving that.

Lupin, sitting in his arm chair, remained silent for a while. Then he took another helpless try. "I don't understand it either, Harry, I have to admit that. Maybe I was mistaken about Severus. Something must have happened to him that let – this part of him prevail again."

"I never trusted him! He always hated me, from the very first moment. Every one of his actions was ambiguous. How could Dumbledore have trusted him? Why? Why was it possible that Dumbledore was so deceived? He could still be alive!" Angrily he brushed away his tears.

"Dumbledore knew Snape so much longer than you know him, Harry," Lupin gently said. "Don't you think that he knew more about him than you can imagine?"

"Why aren't you furious?" Harry suddenly asked when he had regained his speech. "Why don't you hate him?"

"Because hate will not bring Albus Dumbledore back to life. Nothing can. I'm convinced that his death served a purpose. That is what we have to look for, Harry. It's dangerous to be lost in hatred; there's nothing more dangerous in times like these. Hatred blinds you and makes you careless. It deprives you of the joy of living. Then the dark side has another victim." Lupin slowly got up and stretched. "It's very late. And we want to be up early if I got you right. We should get some sleep."

Harry nodded. But he still remained seated for some time after Lupin had gone back down stairs.

When he finally dropped on his bed in the room next door, his last thought was that he had forgotten something.


	3. Godric's Hollow

**Chapter Three:**

**Godric's Hollow**

**(Translation by Threecornerjack)**

Ron, Hermione and Harry had taken their breakfast up to Harry's drawing room. They sat there with mugs of steaming coffee, watching the sunlight crawling along the freshly painted walls. The atmosphere was still somewhat tense.

"Are you folks angry at me?" Harry asked with a dull voice. "We'll be together again tomorrow."

But Hermione continued poking around listlessly in her scrambled eggs while Ron munched his toast with marmalade. One couldn't even read the news paper because the _Prophet_ had not arrived yet. After a while, Harry decided to pack a few things he intended to take along. He bent over his bag which was lying on the floor by the wall with the old goblin. On the grey material which had become friable with age, the morning sun illuminated the golden embroidery. To Harry's opinion _'Toujours pur'_ was undeservedly radiant. He was just about to turn away as a word caught his eye and made him jerk. He took a closer look. Right enough, there it was, minute but clearly legible in the sunshine.

"That can't be!"

"What's up, did you find the Potters there?" Ron asked.

"No. But – here, have a look for yourselves! Gaunt! There it is!"

Hermione jumped up while Ron tried to figure out where to put the name Gaunt.

"Gaunt was the maiden name of Voldemort's mother, don't you remember?" Hermione explained impatiently. "Harry encountered him in Dumbledore's Pensieve."

"You mean Sirius was related to You-know-, ehm, Voldemort?" Ron asked dumbfounded.

"He told me back then that all of the pure-blooded wizarding families are related," Harry said while reflecting on the tiny embroidery.

"She's on it, too," Hermione noted. "There: Merope Gaunt. And her brother Morfin. But the branch ends with these two. Apparently nobody was able to follow the trace from here."

"You can fill that in," said Ron with his mouth full of toast. "You could get Kreacher to learn these stitches and embroider the missing parts of his master's family tree."

"Good idea," Harry said though distracted because he attempted to sort out the relationships between the Blacks.

"Well, Merope's great-grandmother Charlotte and Elladora Black were sisters," Hermione called triumphantly. "You know the one with the elves' heads. She was Charlotte Peverell's sister. Elladora married Peter Black and luckily remained childless after her marriage; but Charlotte who married Alexander Gaunt had two sons, Jeremy and Lawrence. Jeremy then had a son – Marvolo. And Lawrence had a daughter – Pandora. Those two married – is that allowed, they were first cousins?"

"As far as I remember, Dumbledore said that was a family tradition with the Gaunts," Harry slowly replied.

"Now I see that, too, it must have happened quite often."

"That must have been the reason why Morfin and Merope looked fairly – well, somewhat freaky," said Harry while he was still wondering where he had heard the name Peverell before.

"Good morning, everybody." Lupin and Tonks stood in the doorway of the drawing room.

"The other door was open so we thought we could join you for breakfast." Tonks said cheerfully. She directed a heavily loaded, hovering tray to the table by the fire place.

"To be honest, I think I should get going soon," said Harry. "I'll take the train."

"The train to Godric's Hollow?" Lupin smiled. "Are you sure?"

Harry only had a general idea of the whereabouts of the town where his parents had been killed. "Why?"

"Well, it's a bit troublesome to get there. We could of course take the train to Bristol but then we have to take some rattly old commuter train to go from there. It would be easier to apparate."

Harry showed signs of reluctance. "I haven't got the licence yet. And I somehow feel – taking the train is the right thing to do."

"It's your excursion, Harry. If you want to take the train, I won't stop you. But if we want to be in time for the wedding, we'll have to get to _The Burrow_ by tomorrow morning which means that we really have to get going now."

"We'll also be on our way soon. We're just waiting for Moody to return to take over from Tonks and then we're gone," said Hermione.

"Oh damned, back to the nut house. That's something I'm looking forward to," Ron grumbled.

Harry put some sandwiches in his bag. "Could you take Hedwig's cage along? Just let her fly ahead to _The Burrow_."

"Sure. Should we take your dress cloak, too?"

"Oh boy, I would have forgotten it! Please take that thing along with you!" And with a shock he noticed that he didn't have a present for Bill and Fleur. He hadn't been thinking about the wedding until yesterday.

He took one of his port-key quills and also put it in his bag which already contained his invisibility cloak and several other indispensable things, sticking the other quill in a box on his desk, amidst further writing utensils.

Tonks said good-bye to Lupin, and Harry could see her worried face, a worry everyone had become acquainted to in the past months: the fear of possibly loosing loved-ones.

Feeling a little embarrassed Harry turned to his friends. To his surprise Hermione gave him a hug. "Take care of yourself, Harry."

"I will. And again thanks for everything. The house is really nice now. Please don't be angry at me for going on my own."

oooOOOooo

Although it was a Friday morning in summer, Harry and Lupin were lucky to find an empty compartment. They were on the train heading for Bristol, seeing the landscape passing by, they were lost in thought: a tired looking, badly clad man in his end thirties who looked older because of his prematurely grey hair and the furrows on his friendly face and an emaciated, pale youth whose black hair was too long and whose jeans were not only too short but frayed out and stained.

"Have you ever been to Godric's Hollow?" Harry suddenly asked.

"Yes. At James' wedding. And at your parents' funeral. All the members of the Order were present, at least those who were still alive. What about you? Do you have any recollection of this place?"

"No. I've never been there, apart from when I was a baby, I mean, and of course I can't remember that. The queer thing is that I didn't think about visiting this place again until a short while ago." The idea of coming here didn't occur to him until Dumbledore's interment. "I thought I could at least visit my parents' graves. And maybe the place where it happened."

"I saw the house afterwards. It's badly damaged, the roof had collapsed and as far as I remember, the complete second floor had, too. Who knows what that looks like now? By the way, shouldn't you at least inherit the land?" Lupin suddenly asked.

"No idea," Harry replied. "Did it belong to them? I thought they just used it for a hide-out."

"No, the house had belonged to your family for many years, on your grandmother's side, to my impression. I know that because Sirius mostly spent his holidays together with James at your grandparents' place. He was delighted by James' mother. She was an Auror and, what might have been even more important, nearly a professional Quidditch player." Lupin noticed that Harry was paying close attention and seemed keen on hearing more. "Didn't he tell you anything about the Potters?"

"No. We didn't get to it."

"James used to say that he was the one who spoiled his mother's career. If she had been a Quidditch player, she might have had longer to live."

Harry tried to imagine his grandmother as a Quidditch player but it didn't work. "What happened to her?"

"Your grandmother was probably murdered by a death eater. That was in 1978, shortly after James and Lily married."

"And what about my grandfather?"

"He was quite a bit older than she was." Lupin smiled. "Incidentally, he was teacher for Herbology at Hogwarts."

"Beg your –? Why didn't anyone ever mention that?"

"Maybe the few people who still know that thought that you knew it, too. As far as I heard, he wasn't there for long. At least he stopped teaching as his student, Artemis Pepperleaf, had finished school. He then married her. At James' wedding he told this story himself."

"Artemis Pepperleaf?" Harry had increasing difficulties trying to envisage his grandmother.

"A nice name for a chaser, don't you agree?" Lupin grinned. "Your grandfather died shortly after her. And James inherited the house but they first lived in London. I think you should hear something about this property belonging to you. Someone must have taken care of it since then."

At this moment the compartment door was opened. A man squeezed inside with a briefcase, carrying a newspaper under his arm. He gave them a sceptical look; apparently he didn't like their clothing. Then he murmured a greeting and took a seat next to the compartment door, unfolded his rustling paper and vanished behind it.

Harry regretted the disturbance. He had finally managed to find out something about his family and then someone had to turn up and interrupt them. Why hadn't he asked Lupin earlier? In the end he was a school friend of his parents. Suddenly he realized why he had wanted to travel the Muggle way. He needed time to think and while travelling he couldn't do much more than follow his own thoughts.

Lupin who sat facing Harry nudged his foot lightly and caught his attention. Harry looked up and was startled by the expression on Lupin's face. He nodded in the direction of the news paper the man had unfolded. It showed a big photo of smoking rubble, remnants of a house. Next to the picture the headline screamed '_Bombing Terror in Little Whinging'_. Harry's heart missed a beat. With some difficulty he read the article that followed.

'_During the night preceding Friday the residents of Privet Drive, a quiet little street in the London suburb of Little Whinging, were thrown out of bed at about half past one as an explosion near to fully destroyed the house number four. _

'_The roof was blown off completely,' an excited neighbour stated. 'Some of the tiles flew into my swimming pool.' _

_Investigations so far showed no one injured. The owner of the house had left for holidays only two days ago and has not been notified yet.'_

Harry and Lupin looked at each other. Of course it was impossible to discuss this matter as long as there was someone close enough to listen. Harry was well aware of that. He wouldn't have been amazed to find the police waiting for his at the Bristol station. Harry could not help feeling sorry for the Dursleys. He wondered if they might suspect him. Stupid question! Uncle Vernon would give his personal description to the police for a 'wanted' poster before he had even seen his ruined house.

It was most alarming! Had the person, who had planted the 'bomb', known that there was nobody inside? (Harry by the way was quite certain that there had been no bomb or anything else that Muggles could detect.) Or had whoever just seized the first possibility there was after he had come of age and the protective spells around the house had worn off?

"Let's get going, Harry," said Lupin in a low but decisive voice. He stood up and left the compartment. Harry followed him totally confused. In the corridor Lupin said, "There is no need for us to be held up in Bristol because your uncle might resort to all means to find you. Let's apparate. Take my arm and cling to it."

Again it seemed as though Dumbledore had been speaking and Harry obeyed without contradiction.

oooOOOooo

As he again stood on his feet after experiencing the familiar but disagreeable pull, they had arrived at a sign on the roadside. _Welcome to Godric's Hollow!_ it read. The street wasn't much more than a dusty causeway between green meadows. Twice a day the long-distance bus passed here usually frequented only by the local holidaymakers.

Lupin and Harry took a deep breath of warm summer air. Harry was surprised to taste the salt in it. "Is the ocean near by?"

Lupin pointed to the fine line on the horizon visible through the glimmering air. Using his imagination Harry could make out some blue through the haze.

"Didn't you know that?" Lupin asked with some astonishment. "That's due to being able to apparate. We just don't care about maps and other details when travelling."

He was just about to start on his way when Harry held him back. "Hold on a moment," he requested. "Would you think it very foolish to visit the cemetery first? Before we go into town?"

"If that's what you prefer it's no problem. The old cemetery is out of town, near the coast line and we can curve around the town on our way."

They bent off the road into a lane bordered by hedges, heading generally in the right direction.

"You, too, think the Dursleys will blame me?" Harry asked a little depressed.

"Harry, it was just a matter of time until something like that happened. I know, Dumbledore put several protective spells on the house but those were void the moment you left that house for ever. Surely your relatives will believe that you wanted to pay them back."

"Well, I suppose uncle Vernon coming after me is my least problem presently," Harry murmured half in thought.

"That's right, just push it aside and think about it when you find the time. We're here because of your _real_ family today."

For a while they silently walked side by side until Harry asked, "What do you remember about my parents? Did you like them?"

"It would have been difficult not to like Lily."

"What about him, my father?"

Lupin smiled. "Was a spoilt boy. Rich parents. Same as Sirius. Knew no fear, no uncertainty. That might have been the reason why he wasn't very considerate towards others. But a faithful and absolutely reliable friend. Yes, I liked him a lot. But I wasn't as close to him as Sirius was."

"Where were you when they died?"

Despite the topic Lupin looked at him in amusement. "That sounds like you wanted to hear my alibi."

"No, it's just that I know something about Sirius and Pettigrew during that night but nothing about you."

Lupin sighed. "There's a good reason for that – we had a full moon that night. I was locked up in the cellar of my parent's house."

"How could Sirius have suspected you to be the traitor then?"

"At the time, I suppose, all of us suspected each other. Those were uncertain days. I was sure – it must have been Sirius. I didn't want to believe it but I knew he was their Secret Keeper. At least I thought I knew it. I had no idea that they had taken Peter in the end until he told me three years ago at Hogwarts."

In the distance they could now see Godric's Hollow through the trees; a few old houses and a small church steeple. Grey stones gleamed through the swaying branches of willows and alder trees. On their way to the coastal road Harry kept his eyes on this view until the top of the church steeple was the only visible part of Godric's Hollow behind the trees. Up here on the grassy edge, the sea wind seemed stronger. Harry felt a bit dizzy as he saw how far the cliffs went down on his left hand side. Laid out before him were variations in the coast line; he saw narrow paths that led down to sandy inlets between the cliffs where swimming should be possible. Just a little in front of him he noticed four or five mainly young people, wearing shorts and carrying rucksacks, grouped around a woman who showed them steps leading downwards that had been hewn out of the rocks. The moment Lupin and Harry passed, one of the girls asked, "Can the cave be visited?"

Harry and Lupin grinned at each other. It seemed queer that there were tourists around. And then Harry saw the cemetery; a patch close to the coast with high, wrought iron fences. He felt uneasy as he and Lupin passed through the cemetery gate.

They passed an old man in a green smock who was raking the gravel path with slow movements. He stopped when he saw them and followed them with his eyes. Lupin's steps were determined though it had been no less than sixteen years that he had been there last. Possibly, being a werewolf gave him a better sense of direction.

"Here it is," he finally said as they had reached the far corner of the seaward side of the cemetery. The burial place was nearly hidden under a wind bent fir tree. No other trees seemed to thrive here. The grey stone only showed the names and dates of his parents. A round-leaved plant spread out over the grave like a pillow. It was an unexpectedly peaceful spot with the branches of the fir trees muffling the sound of the wind and the screeching sea gulls.

Harry just stood there, not really knowing what to do. What had he expected? A hint to what was to happen next or where he should turn to? But there was nothing here. To imagine that the remains of his parents were here in the ground beneath his feet was difficult and essentially meaningless. What had been relevant about James and Lily could not be found here. Even if he had expected a message from them, he would surely not find it here.

"A strange thing about graves," Lupin said as though he had been reading his thoughts. "Once the dead have been buried you realize that this is the least likely place to find them."

"Is it always that way?" Harry asked somehow relieved. "I had thought it important to come here and see the place – and now I don't know what I had expected to find."

The old cemetery care taker raked the path near them as though by coincidence. Harry had noticed the curiosity in his light coloured eyes as they passed him earlier.

"In any case I want to visit their house or at least the spot where it once stood," he stated decisively. "And Hermione would probably not talk to me again if I didn't try to find some old documents, news paper clipping or whatever about what happened – at the time."

"I doubt that will help you any further. The ministry altered the Muggles' memory after what happened."

"Yes, I heard that, too," Harry said and remembered the conversation between Fudge, McGonagall, Rosmerta and Hagrid on whom he had eavesdropped at the _Three Broomsticks_ three years earlier. "But Hermione would at least have a look at things like news paper archives and so on. And somehow she always finds out useful bits and pieces."

The old man was now close enough to hear them. As he started to speak, Harry noticed that there were only short remnants of his teeth left.

"Did you know these two?" he asked and nodded toward the grave of the Potters. "Has been some time since the last visitors came. I always cut back this stuff before it grows over the stone."

"Tha – that's – ehm very nice of you," Harry stammered.

"It's my job to keep things tidy," the old man said casually. "Well there's not that much happening here since they opened up the other cemetery behind this area of new buildings. But back then – and especially when _that_ happened –"

"Do you recall what happened?"

"Are you joking, boy? That was the worst thing that ever happened in Godric's Hollow! Fourteen people died, counting these two. I was a regular cemetery worker then; had a lot of work. And all this discussion about if the Potters should be buried here at all. Sacred soil, if you know what I mean. Folks knew this family, well, witchcraft and such stuff." At this point he stopped talking and gave them an enquiring look. As both didn't react he continued. "But Reverend Gwynnith stopped the gossip. Said that he would of course have them buried here where Artemis and Alexander as well as all the other Pepperleafs and many of the Potters had been laid to rest as well. Was a good man, that Reverend Gwynnith."

"Could we talk to him?"

"He's dead, nearly ten years now. We share a priest with the neighbouring parish. Nobody lives in the vicarage anymore; it's only the library and the community hall in there now."

"You just said that it's been some time since visitors came to the grave of the Potters. Does that mean that there was a frequent visitor in earlier years?" asked Harry.

"I wouldn't say _frequently_. Once or twice a year a peculiar old man with a long white beard came here, always wearing queer clothes. But he was very polite. I heard that he also bought the old house or what was left of it."

"The house of the Potters?"

"Mmh. It's called the 'Pepperleaf-House' around here! Lion's Lane number seven. Nobody knows why he bought it. He never looked after it, repaired it or something. Put a fence 'round it so the kids couldn't use it for tests of courage or other games. And that was it. Everything remained the way it used to be, after this stove or whatever it was, had blown up. It's amazing it hasn't totally collapsed yet."

Harry and Lupin gave each other a meaningful look.

"Pity actually, was a nice house. Generations of Pepperleafs had lived in it. But they must be extinguished now, same as the Potters. Only had this one son. Sic transit, and so on. You know what I mean."

Harry was lost in thought as he walked next to Lupin. "I don't get it," he finally said. "Why fourteen dead? Does that mean this is the place where Sirius came up against Wormtail?"

Lupin looked at him in surprise. "Didn't you know that?"

"No!" Harry said in outrage. "Nobody ever told me anything in detail. Hints yes, a sentence here, a word there – but nobody ever gave the big picture to me on any topic. Most details I had so far were from a conversation I overheard a few years ago!"

"Well – one reason for that could be that the puzzle has not yet been fully solved," Lupin said thoughtfully. "I talked to Sirius about this a few times, later. That made some things clearer but could not explain everything by far."

"Sirius cornered Wormtail in Godric's Hollow?" Harry returned to his question, still in disbelief. "He really turned up at the scene of the crime on the following day?"

"Apparently. But why? He must have known that Sirius would accuse and chase him."

"May be – couldn't it be possible that he acted on Voldemort's instruction?" Harry mused.

"We came to that conclusion, too. Maybe Voldemort wanted him close at hand, just in case Peter's information would have turned to be wrong. But why was he at Godric's Hollow on the following day? We spent much time thinking about it. But not until you told Sirius, back then, that Peter had Voldemort's cloak and wand during this restoration ritual – did it occur to us. Possibly Peter wanted to get these two objects from the house that day."

That was something Harry had to think about. "But wasn't it dangerous – to get those things on the following day? I mean, the Muggles could have found them, _must_ have found them! They went into the house, didn't they, after my parents had been killed?"

"You've got a point there. But just assume Peter was supposed to have waited for Voldemort inside or near the house – then the matter took this unexpected turn for Voldemort. Peter mustered his courage and inspected the house – probably as a rat. There he would have found nothing but his master's cape and wand – might have wanted to take these along, was disturbed, possibly because Sirius arrived. He must have hidden the things in the house, to pick them up later. In any case, as Sirius arrived, he found neither cape nor wand."

On their way into town they had just passed the first houses. On the garden walls numerous small roses where blooming in lush abundance and everywhere bumble bees where humming in the dark blue tufts of lavender.

"Just imagine what that night must have been like – in a peaceful little town a house more or less gets blown up! It couldn't have taken long until people came from all sides to see what had happened. It is rather astonishing that Sirius as well as Hagrid were able to come and leave again, taking you along, without being seen! But after that there probably was no quiet moment near the destroyed house or in the street."

"Yes," Harry murmured and thought about the impressions he had gathered from seeing police-work on TV. "The police must have looked in every corner."

"Exactly. And don't forget that a considerable part of the people living here have a magic background. They would have found their own explanations for what had happened. And once the news of Voldemort's defeat became official, there must have been a lot of curious people showing up. Peter might have been able to hide in the crowd but he wouldn't have been able to remove something from the house without being seen."

"You mean, he waited until everything had quietened down somewhat on the following day and then went back into the house, to –"

"We don't know and will probably never find out exactly what happened," Lupin remarked gloomily. "Sirius told me that he had looked for Peter everywhere during that night. He had been to his flat before he came to Godric's Hollow. He thought that Peter would have fled – the question was, where to and in which appearance! It was hopeless; Peter could have been anywhere. So, on the following day, Sirius returned to the place where it had happened, hoping to find some kind of a hint."

"But he knew that Dumbledore would think he was the traitor, didn't he? That everybody would be looking for him?"

"Yes, certainly. The only people who knew that James and Lily had decided on Peter to be their Secret Keeper shortly before, were dead. I believe Sirius must have been totally beside himself at the time. He knew that he was lost. And here in Godric's Hollow, of all place, he came across Peter, out in the public – as though nothing had happened! That was, so far, the only time in his life that Peter had sought refuge in attack. He called Sirius a traitor, at the top of his voice so that everybody could hear him."

Harry didn't want to imagine what state his godfather must have been in. It wasn't surprising that, after Pettigrew's final move, he was capable of nothing else but to burst out with crazy laughter.

"But what did Pettigrew do with the cloak and wand? Or do you think he disappeared with the things somehow, being a rat?"

"That's an interesting question, too. If he could have taken the things along while he was a rat, he could have done so during the night," Lupin said in thought. "I presume that it's more likely, he hid the things somewhere nearby, where he was able to collect them at a later point, without being seen."

They had meanwhile gone further into town and were heading for the centre, where there was a church and a chemist apart from the supermarket.

"I would like to go to this library. Maybe they've got some kind of – ehm, archive or something like that –," Harry said vaguely as they passed the church. "I mean Hermione would always look for something like that."

oooOooo

The local library in the previous vicarage was next to the church as the old man said and they were lucky: open Fridays between 9.30 and 12 o'clock, and it was twenty to twelve now. They entered a small hall filled with book shelves and hesitantly crossed the creaking wooden floor boards to a desk at which a busy looking middle aged woman sat. More than half a minute she kept her read the library cards in front of her before she raised her eyes, giving the newly arrived a stern look over her reading glasses on the tip of her nose. The lilac silk blouse with frills around the collar, spectacles fixed to a long necklace, a face set in the conviction of always being right in the end – she was a typical small town vicarage librarian.

"Yes – what can I do for you?" she slowly asked in a voice implying that whatever it might be it would inevitably be below her intellectual standard. Then she surveyed the two visitors. Obviously new holiday guests. A man and a boy, apparently not father and son – and how _odd_ the man looked in his misfit clothes combining different shades of grey –

"Have you got a section – ehm – relating to local history or something similar?" Harry asked hesitantly. This was a matter that would suit Hermione far better.

Again this enquiring look over the rim of her glasses. "Are you interested in the history and the sights of the town – what period would interest you?"

"Ehm –" Harry recommenced.

"We have several books on the history of the region. And a little book on the legend of the town with that stuff about Godric Griffens and his bride, details collected and published by the late Reverend." The disapproving tone of her voice allowed no doubt about her view on such topics.

"Godric Griffens?" Harry asked in surprise. "Wasn't his name _Gryffindor_?"

A sharp look. "Do you know the book?"

"No – ehm, I heard of him, of Godric I mean."

"You must have taken part on one of Patricia's guided tours," she remarked disparagingly. "Patricia likes to exaggerate these stories because there's not much worth seeing around here."

"No – that sounds very interesting," said Harry. "Where can I get details on that?"

"As I already said Reverend Gwynnith wrote a book about it. Tells this old horror story of the alchemist Godric Griffens, who was said to have sought refuge here at the turn of the first millennium. Had run away with the daughter of a friend or a rival, it's not quite clear which, who then pursued him. Godric was supposed to have lived in that cave in the upper part of the cliff with his wife, Selena was her name, until her father found her there. He made her jump off the cliff and Godric could not save her and then tried to strike his cruel father-in-law dead. It is unknown what became of that."

Lupin and Harry exchanged glances.

"Total nonsense if you ask me. There's nothing to support this legend. And who would hide in that cave up there – it's easily accessible for everyone. By the way there are also two lores saying that Godric as well as his father-in-law were great wizards who had a dramatically duel using magic. That might be more to your taste," she added and her voice sounded as though she turned up her nose. "There's a club here in town with a lot of people interested in witchcraft. Always attracts nutters from elsewhere. Well, everyone as he pleases."

"That was an interesting story," Lupin also commented in his most convincing Professor's voice. "But to be quite honest, we are more interested in a matter of the more recent history of this town. And for that we would like to take a look into the records of the local news paper if something like that is available."

That had the required effect. She realized that her first assessment had been wrong. The man was probably a teacher or a professor who was investigating on a topic, and the boy was probably a student. Not only outward appearance sometimes hardly allowed a distinction between the crackpots and others –

"We have got micro copies of the _Village News_ starting from 1958," she said, sounding a little edgy. "The necessary equipment is in the reading room. If you could tell me what year you are interested in, I would get the copies you need."

Harry and Lupin exchanged another glance showing looks of being alarmed and helpless.

The librarian misunderstood their hesitation. "I'm sorry but we aren't computerized yet," she said and there was no doubt as to who would oppose such innovation. "If you are no longer acquainted to the use of the microfilm-reader I could assist you. To which topic do you require details?"

"We would like the issues starting early November 1981," said Lupin.

Instantly the presumptuous reserve on the librarian's face gave way to a sincere concern. "Oh – are you relatives? I mean – did you loose a member of your family back then?"

"Well – yes," Harry murmured.

"That was a horrible matter," she said in a quiet voice. "My sister and her family were among the victims. The – the whole street – was simply – destroyed." Her voice trembled and she stood up with a start. "I'll get the issues for you. We also keep them as bound originals."

Ten minutes later Lupin and Harry were sitting in front of three volumes bound in black artificial leather intently bending over slightly yellowed news paper pages covered in clear plastic.

There wasn't much to be found. But they hadn't expected to find very detailed reports although the conversation with the cemetery keeper had made them curious as to how the Muggles would explain the matter. They read about the catastrophe which suddenly interrupted the tranquil life at Godric's Hollow, in the issue dated November 2nd, 1981. The police assumed that a leaky gas pipe first killed the two inhabitants in the house of the Potters and later destroyed the building. There was no mention of a baby. The next morning the area was hit by the second tragedy. Possibly caused by the same gas leak, a gigantic explosion in this street caused twelve deaths and left a huge crater.

Harry stared at the small black and white photo which didn't depict many details. It showed a scarified street with the face of screaming and wide eyed woman in front of it illustrating a terrifying moment. Smoke and rubble everywhere. And there – there was Sirius. Tiny, in the middle of the photo. Hands clenched to fists, arms helplessly at his sides. Confusion and wild despair written across his face, recognizable even on this small photo. The officers of the magic police must have arrived within minutes of this picture and taken him to Azkaban.

"Not a word about Sirius and Pettigrew," Harry murmured. "Although the people who reported what the two said and did, were Muggles."

"Yes – they told all this to the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, before their memories were changed," Lupin replied and asked in a low voice, "What exactly are you expecting to find in the papers?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to read how they explained it. The Muggles, I mean."

"It must have been a very difficult task to manipulate the memories of all these people," Lupin murmured. He had a page in front of him with a large photo of all the coffins placed in a row. Harry suddenly realized that two of those must have been for his parents. He remembered the rows of graves back near the cliffs. How strange that so many Muggles were affected by this incident even until now – affected by something so important to him in a very personal way. And none of them knew what really happened. Maybe with the exception of the people the librarian thought of as members in a club for witchcraft.

"We're closing now," she said. She came over to them and had apparently regained a considerable amount of her brisk attitude. "You can return on Monday at nine thirty to continue reading; I'll put the volumes aside for you."

"Thank you very much," Harry said, "but I believe we've found everything we wanted to know."

She raised her eye brows expressing considerable doubt. "In so short a time? Well, yes. Things always have to be done in a hurry nowadays. If you say so. But I have to close now; it's already ten past twelve."

oooOOOooo

As they stepped out into the sunshine Lupin said, "You deprived me of my breakfast this morning. Let's go to the _Wizard and Wand_ and have something to eat!"

"_Wizard and Wand_?"

"That's an old pub by the market place right around the corner. If it still exists."

"Is it run by the club of nutters?"

"You mean because of the name? No, the owner is a Muggle. But the place has a magic history, Harry. As you heard, not even the Muggles stay completely unaffected."

While they walked over the worn cobbled stones Harry asked, "Is there anything to this story about Godric?"

"It's the first time I heard the story told this way. On our side they say the older Godric was supposed to have lived here for a while. Like a hermit. What she dished up for us sounded quite incredible. Makes you wonder."

Harry thought the same.

As they returned to the main road a group of five or six screeching children came in their direction. They chased down the road laughing and yelling, followed by a fuming and scalding woman wearing a white apron and shaking a broom after them.

"Don't ever turn up here again!" she shouted angrily. "What a cheek!" As she saw Lupin and Harry coming she gave up the pursuit, turned around and headed back up the road grumbling. She vanished inside a portly looking house, darkened from age and half covered by a willow tree.

"That's it!" Lupin said pointing to the house. "_Wizard and Wand_."

Now Harry saw the sign, too, and suddenly felt hungry.

"I hope you took Muggle money along?!" Lupin asked in alarm.

"Yes, sure."

"I spent my last money on the tickets," Lupin said remorsefully. "I'm just not used to travelling this way."

"I'm sorry I got you into this. I'll invite you to lunch!" grinned Harry.

As they entered the pub they saw two large flower pots with devastated plants on either side of the door. It was dim and cool inside. The smell of fish and chips was inviting. At the bar the woman they had just seen on the street was rinsing glasses with fierce movements and talking with a man who was obviously the innkeeper. "These damned kids. They tore out all of my geraniums. The same trouble every year!"

"Stop bein' so upset 'bout it Lizzy! You've got a whole lot of this green stuff. You can plant some more in the pots."

"Oh it's 'bout time you stepped in! They're doing that just t'be nasty. I'd like t'hear what you'd say if they broke the windows next time!"

The innkeeper turned to the guests who had just entered. "Don't hold it against her," he said while he tapped two beers for them. "The flowers mean everything t'her. And the kids, well, it's right. Cheeky little brats. But they don't get much from life."

Harry didn't know what had caught his attention and why. Suddenly he felt something like a wake, pulling all his thoughts in one direction. He couldn't tell where it would end but it was unavoidable and things would be clear to him in the following minutes; this he felt with a heart beating wildly –

"They're here on holidays every year. Some kind of children's home or somethin'."

"An orphanage," Lizzy noted from the bar, still annoyed. "Come all the way from London. I wonder where they get the money to even send this brood here for summer holidays. They should rather take the money to pay more capable people to look after them."

"Now stop complainin', m'girl. I always say –"

Harry got up with such a start that his chair nearly tipped backward. Lupin gave him a startled look. Harry had turned white to the lips. "An orphanage? From London?" he asked somewhat breathless.

"Yes. They've been coming for ages, is a kind of tradition, I suppose. Stay a little out of town with the Wiltshires and the Carmichaels, some ten to fifteen children."

"Used to be more in earlier times, had their own house at the end of the town then," Lizzy interjected. "But they had to close that down some years ago."

And Harry understood. His thoughts were released from the pull to cumulate in the realization that had been lingering in the background since they had been to the coast, had seen the rugged cliffs, possibly already when he tasted the salty air after apparating. Godric's Hollow – why hadn't Dumbledore told him about it? He had been near here before, less than five weeks ago. The cave in the cliffs – possibly not the one shown to the tourists. Tom Riddle's cave. Godric's Hollow.

He couldn't believe it.

Suddenly he noticed that the others were staring at him. "I'm sorry. I just thought of something."

He sat down again and felt like an idiot. The innkeeper went away to prepare the lunch. Lupin continued looking at Harry but didn't ask questions and Harry was grateful for that.

As the plates came Harry asked the innkeeper, "How long have the children been coming here?"

"Oh, for very many years – well, when I was a child I played with some of the boys."

"Some of those who came here when they were young later settled here." Lizzy added from the counter.

"Yes exactly; Fredericks from across, the one from the super market."

"And the old Bishop, he came from there too, didn't he, Sean?"

Harry nearly jumped up again but was able to stop himself just in time. "Did you say Bishop?"

"Yes. Did you know him?" the innkeeper asked in surprise. "He died some years ago – anyway. Was a bit nuts in the end. Always climbed around in the cliffs. Must have finally fallen off one day."

"His body was never found," his wife said gloomily.

Harry and Lupin finished their lunch in silence. The thoughts were racing around in Harry's head. What was all that about? Was it of any importance that the place where his parents were killed by Voldemort was the same place that the boy Tom Riddle used to spend his summer holidays? Did it have a meaning at all? Apart from the fact that Riddle found the _right_ cave.

He badly wished he had taken Ron and Hermione along now. He could have talked to them about this. Hermione would surely have found some explanations. As it looked, this would have to wait at least until tomorrow.

One spine-chilling moment he asked himself if it would be any good to go looking for this cave. His fingers closed on the locket that Dumbledore and he had taken from the cave. The fake Horcrux, for which Dumbledore died in the end and that Harry constantly carried around since then. He decided that it would make no sense to go there at present – provided he would actually be able to find the cave again. This insight relieved him considerably. At the moment he couldn't even bear the thought of having to see this place again.

And there was another matter he would have to face today. Half an hour later they were on their way to Lion's Lane number seven.

oooOooo

Lion's Lane was typical for the old streets of town; one and two storey houses made of grey stone, partly with moss on the roof tiles, front gardens lovingly cared for and planted with rambling roses, vines and dahlias of all colours. At first sight number seven differed only because the garden was surrounded by a high wall of piled stones. Tufts of grass and wild flowers were growing between the stones. The two visitors stopped in front of the wrought iron gate. There was no lock. Nothing happened as Lupin tried it with _Alohomora!_.

"You try it!" he said. "If Dumbledore put protective spells on this place, at least you, as righteous heir, should be able to enter."

So Harry took his wand and murmured a somewhat unconvinced "_Alohomora!_". To his surprise the gate opened without a sound. The destruction was very clearly visible now that they had entered. The window panes were missing on the first floor. Above the door there was a blazon depicting a lion and a leaf with a golden snitch hovering between them.

"I remember that well. That's the Pepperleaf coat of arms," Lupin said. "It was embroidered on James' dress cloak in gold and he always thought that horribly embarrassing."

They passed through the over-grown garden which still had a swing and a garden seat.

"I could imagine that Dumbledore left a few things in there for you," Lupin said in a low voice as they stood in front of the door. Harry's heart had started beating very fast since they entered the garden. This was quite different to the cemetery.

"And maybe," Lupin continued, "maybe something that belonged to your parents will talk to you. I'll stay out here in the garden."

Harry opened the door; it wasn't locked.

There was a big picture in the hall that seemed dim and cool when coming in from the sunshine. The small dusty windows at the bottom of the stairs did not let enough light in to recognize details. He saw something move in the picture. He softly said "Lumos!" and his wand illuminated a portrait in a golden frame. A tall man with white hair and a very slim young lady in a red dress nestling against him. Both smiled. At first he thought he was looking at father and daughter. As he took a closer look at the woman's slender and lively face surrounded by badly combed, tousled deep black hair recognition hit him. There was no doubt, this was his grandmother; there was a striking resemblance to James. She had a tiny golden snitch on a thin golden chain around her neck. It looked like a stylized lion's head. Artemis Pepperleaf, the nearly professional chaser, smiled at her grandson with her dark eyes.

Harry slowly continued walking over the creaking floor boards and entered the living room. Nothing seemed damaged here; only a few books had dropped out of the shelves. He opened the other door and looked into the kitchen.

Smashed dishes and glass covered the kitchen floor. Harry dismissed the idea of entering the kitchen after he saw how the light reflected from the sharp edges of the shattered glass and china strewed everywhere. He quietly closed the door and took another look at the living room. Had Dumbledore, who probably had kept this house the way it was for him, expected that he would come looking for anything in specific?

His eyes fell on a worn, leather-covered box under the shelf. He saw that it was a Quidditch case and pulled it out. Right enough, when he opened the locks and lifted the lid he found four balls inside; two black Bludgers, a red Quaffle and a golden snitch. He took out the smallest one and saw that it was marked with the letters L.E. The snitch that had rested in its prison for so long twitched its tiny wings a bit. Harry carefully stroked his mother's initials that were shimmering in a green that had grown pale.

At that it seemed as though he could look through the snitch as if it were a kind of peep-hole into something that to him resembled a scene in an old film –

There was his mother, wearing a dress of ivory coloured silk; her red hair fell freely down her back only retained by a delicate net with a few emerald green chips glistening on it. On her ears he saw the same filigree silver ear-pendants he knew from the photo taken at Petunia's wedding.

To Harry, his mother was very beautiful.

Now his father stepped into the picture, wearing a blue velvet dress-cloak and holding something in front of her eyes in his closed fist. "Look carefully!" he whispered and slightly opened his hand. The golden snitch desperately flapped its little wings and James quickly closed his fingers around it again. But Harry had been able to recognize the letters L.E. on it.

Lily laughed. "Be careful not to let it got! It might drop in the cake!"

"I will never let it go. Now that I've finally caught it," James murmured in her ear.

With that the picture disappeared and the snitch in his hand was only an old snitch again. Harry closed his fingers around it as his father had and turned to the stairs.

He became aware that the ruined upper floor was weighing heavy on him. That's where it must have happened, where his parent's bedroom was. Reluctantly and carefully he groped up the rickety wooden stairs step by step to the top.

The attic had been destroyed completely. Where a big part of the house had broken off, rubble from the roof had fallen into the room below it. Dumbledore must have put a very enduring spell on the house because, although the ceiling of the room had collapsed, letting in the daylight, his parents' bedroom looked as though the tragedy had just happened. No rain, no animals, no decay had contributed to the damage in the past sixteen years. It was ghostlike. Bricks and bits of mortar were lying on the dusty wooden floor-boards, on the bed, on the cot. The bedside table had been thrown over and now lay to Harry's feet.

The room was filled with a mute tension.

Harry bent down and picked up something that had probably rolled off the bedside table and under the bed. It was a photo contained in smoked glass. He saw his mother as she was holding him as a little baby, swirling him around, apparently in the garden of this house. It was a very happy impression that picture made.

Could the snitch let him see more? He held it in the palm of his hand and gently stroked over the crumpled little wings. And really, again it seemed as though a hole in reality – or perhaps in time – had opened and pulled him in, to a different day and a different hour, to an occurrence that started in this same room –

ooOoo

The baby had finally fallen asleep. Lily put him down in his bed carefully so that he wouldn't wake up again and covered him. Then she sank down with a sigh on the edge of her own bed barely a yard away from the baby's cot. It was dark, only the pumpkin on the shelf was grinning its luminous orange grin through the room.

It was meant to be funny but it made the on-looking Harry shiver. The dim light was enough for Harry to see his father's dark head next to Lily on the pillow.

His parents started a whispered conversation.

"I ask myself again and again if it wasn't possibly a mistake to have Peter be the secret-keeper," said Lily.

"We have talked about that so often already! You heard what Sirius said. And I agree with him; Voldemort won't waste a second thought on someone as inconspicuous as Peter."

"But Dumbledore wanted a reliable person for this. James, he offered to do it himself. He wasn't even totally happy about Sirius, didn't you notice?"

"Oh Lily, please! Not again!" James sat up with his hair now really messed up. "Dumbledore thinks he is too impulsive –"

"And wasn't he just that in this matter – impulsive?" Lily asked gently.

"You're biased against Sirius. Even if he is a little light-headed about women, he can be a reliable friend."

"Psst – you will wake Harry! What I mean is that he really seemed concerned."

"And what do you think _I_ am? Do you think I'm hiding in this forsaken place just for the fun of it? I haven't become an Auror to go in hiding! And now we're stuck here for who knows how long. I don't know how Dumbledore expects that to work. Are we supposed to hide away from Voldemort all of our lives?" Angrily he swatted at a tiny black bat with glimmering green eyes while it flew through the room. A left-over from a bag of Halloween jokes they had opened for Harry earlier that evening.

Lily sighed and leaned back, the arms folded under her head, wide eyed, staring into the dark. It was quiet for some minutes, quiet enough for Harry to hear the baby smack its' lips while it slept. The baby, who he himself had been.

James then bent over his wife and whispered, "Please don't be angry, dear. I'm just too bored. I love you both. I love _you_, Lily. I have loved you since the day I first saw you on the Hogwarts Express, sitting next to this little smarmy fellow." He kissed her.

"I'm getting myself something to drink. Do you need anything?"

"Yes, please. Bring the whole bottle of water. There was too much salt with the potatoes again earlier …"

She took her pillow to hit him and then left the room bare-footed on her way to the dark stairs. Harry wished the baby would cry to keep her from leaving. She looked so vulnerable in her T-shirt. And, couldn't she feel the peril that had closed in on this small room?

Inexorably his eyes were pinned to her appearance, following her down the stairs in the dark and into the kitchen which was only lit by a band of moon light from the window.

Harry saw him first. He saw the red glow in the darkest corner of the kitchen as Lily snatched the water bottle from the table. He saw the night condense to an outline that separated itself from the surrounding darkness.

"This is how we meet again, Lily," Voldemort said leisurely.

Lily gave a high pitched scream. She reeled around and looked into the formerly handsome but now strangely mutated, nearly reptilian face of a tall figure leaning against the kitchen cupboard.

"I fear you took the wrong decision, Lily. The wrong decisions again and again. And now you have to bear the consequences."

Lily wanted to grope for her wand but that was upstairs, next to her bed.

"Leave it be. We both know it wouldn't make a difference."

Loud steps on the stairs and then James stood in the room with his wand in his hand. "What's up here? Lily, why –"

He stopped as he saw the glowing red eyes hovering in front of him in the dark kitchen. At the same instant, his wand flew through the air and landed in Voldemort's hand. For a moment, it looked as though he wanted to throw himself on his opponent but Lily held him back. He stood in front of her as if he could protect her.

"Oh, and there we have James, too. Our best Gryffindor. Bright, courageous and just wild enough not to leave the impression of a tame pet." Voldemort gave a contemptuous laugh. "Let me tell you one more thing, James. A man who never doubted, never had to doubt, also never showed true courage. And regretfully it's too late for that now. You can die as a hero if you like, James."

And on the very moment James wanted to say a spell – Harry never found out which one it was – a green flash of light emitted from Voldemort's wand and hit him straight in the chest.

Lily screamed. She tried to support her husband's slumping body but had to give in and slowly let him slip to the floor.

"I assume you know why I'm here, Lily," Voldemort said in a cool voice. "Give me that boy and you need not be harmed."

"No, no, _no_!" She screamed, horror stricken. "You monster!" And suddenly she jumped up, fled through the kitchen door and in doing that seemed to even surprise Voldemort. In breathless panic she raced up the stairs, tripped, nearly lost her balance, steadied herself just in time and managed to get back to the bedroom before Voldemort got there. The wand was on the bedside table. But Lily snatched the baby from its cot and tried to get to the window.

"Stay where you are," Voldemort said in a chilling voice. "Quit that nonsense. You should know when to give up. Hand him over."

"Not Harry, not Harry, please leave Harry!"

Harry, the on-looking, nearly grown up Harry, didn't understand why Voldemort didn't just kill both of them. Instead he tried to take the child away from Lily but she fought back like a wild animal.

"Step aside, you silly girl… get out of the way now…"

But Lily squeezed into a corner of the room, protecting the pitifully crying infant with her body. "Not Harry, please don't, take me, kill me instead of him –"

And Harry saw how the wand was raised again and a green flash came down on his mother.

"Not Harry! Please … spare him … spare him …"

Voldemort gave a piercing laugh as Lily sank to the ground and although dead, she still protected the child.

"Now it's just the two of us, isn't it?" he turned in gruesome amusement to the crying baby that turned quiet instantly as though hit by a silencing charm. Voldemort spent a moment looking at his tiny opponent. "There was no need for her to die, you know," he said. "Even the last decision she took was wrong. But now to you."

Then things happened so quickly that Harry could hardly follow.

Voldemort raised his wand and, with a voice like the edge of a knife, said the deadly curse. For the third time during that night, a green flash of light cut through the darkness. The flash descended on the baby which was still held in the arms of its mother. Harry saw how the lightning was reflected from him to return to Voldemort. He saw the surprise on Voldemort's face, in that fraction of a second before the flash hit him. For a while the green beam vibrated between the infant and the man. During that moment of suspension a black dressed figure rushed into the room. Harry hadn't even heard steps outside.

"No!" the man cried out. A wild mad "No!" came as a scream while he jumped.

Harry recognized a hood and a masked face in the green light of the flash. Then a hiss came from Voldemort's lips, as he shrivelled up, hit by his own curse. At the same time a pressure wave as though it came from an explosion, hit the house and the roof collapsed; Harry could see the ceiling sway alarmingly under the weight of the blown up tiles.

The death eater had come too late; not even his daring jump had been able to ban anything. With his hand, holding the wand, reaching into empty space, all he could do was watch how his lord and master shrivelled up to an ugly, little, unidentifiable something and simply disappeared. The empty cloak was all that remained on the floor. The death eater again screamed, an inarticulate, piercing lament, bone shaking, animal like. He sank to the ground where Voldemort had stood before and didn't move.

Harry, the baby, started to cry again; he had a cut on his forehead with big drops of blood running down.

ooOoo

The grown up Harry clutched the tiny ball in his hands, felt the fragile wings flutter desperately and returned to the present, breathless. He was sitting on the ground, trembling all over.

In front of him dust was dancing in a ray of sunlight which fell across the floor boards. The tension that had been vibrating in the room had gone.

Harry pocketed the snitch, took the photo in its smoke-glass frame and had a last glance at the room. Then he headed down the stairs slowly, passed the portrait of his grandparents and stepped into the golden sunlight of the late afternoon.

oooOooo

Lupin sat on the worn garden seat and watched him coming. Harry sat down next to him. "You were right. Dumbledore left some charms here. Everything was still the way it was back then, I suppose. He probably wanted me to see it. And maybe he did something to this snitch –" He stopped talking and looked at the photo he was holding. "I can't talk about that now," he added. "But some of you were right about one thing; there had been a witness."

Lupin nodded. "We can talk about that later." He also watched Lily swirl her little boy around.

"What's that?" Harry held a grey-green grained object that looked like a flat piece of wood, broken unevenly at one side. He turned the glass frame over and as it looked the lock had come undone and this strange thing must have dropped out.

Lupin leaned over to take a closer look. "Seems to be the fruit of the amulet tree," he smiled. "Never seen one before? Bizarrely formed, wood like little objects. But mostly in nice colours, like pebbles on the shore. They always break in two pieces and will only fit to their counter-part. Little girls like them very much."

Sounds like something Luna should know quite well, Harry thought. He put the amulet back and locked the glass frame. Thinking of Luna Lovegood was strangely comforting on this day that had been filled with changing scenes and upsetting discoveries.

"We should apparate to _The Burrow_, Harry," Lupin said softly. "It's already late. And one advantage of being a wizard is that we don't waste much time on travelling. You can come back here any time."

Harry thought of his friends and the big, chaotic home of the Weasleys; the warmth and friendliness, not to mention Molly Weasley's unsurpassable good cooking. "You're right. Let's go."

"If possible, I really ought to be there this evening. You should know that I'm to be Bill's best man."


	4. Wedding Titbits

**Chapter Four:**

**Wedding Titbits**

**(Translated by Threecornerjack)**

And here it was: a golden day in August with all its ripe summer day warmth although the air gave a hint of autumn when the sun came up, betraying itself in no further way. A soft wind cradled the old trees in the Weasley garden that was so tidy and clean as on no other occasion, the abundant festive decoration completed. A golden and sunny blue day with the swallows on the high sky diving down to the grey roofs of Ottery St. Catchpole, chasing away again with happy high pitched singing, telling the world what a pleasure life is. A day made especially for a wedding.

It was to be the last day of liberty.

oooOooo

At the moment the church bells rang six o'clock Harry woke up instantly. He had been late for bed the previous evening – they had shifted chairs, laid out the tables, carried flower pots and cakes around (Mrs Weasley strictly watched out that nobody used a transport spell, especially on the latter) – after that a severe unease must have seized him while he was asleep and now pushed him into the new day. He had this feeling of having forgotten or overlooked or misunderstood some important things. Following the four weeks that he had spent mourning Dumbledore at Privet Drive, the last days had been filled with new information and made him feel stunned. He wanted, he _needed_ time to think. And he felt that time was running short. He had to start looking for the Horcruxes. How long would Voldemort restrain himself? And why did he do that in the first place?

Harry stood up quietly, careful not to wake the snoring Ron, stepped up to the open window and looked down on the garden which was still in the shade, the newly mown lawn like a satin carpet with a sweet smell that reached up to where he stood. He could see the dew on the chairs that stood in several rows crammed behind a kind of platform made of wooden boards. This was the place where Bill and Fleur were going to get married today. Harry had no idea how wizards and witches married. But the arrangements in the garden – the natural bower of hazelnut bushes behind the platform, the decoration of flower garlands – everything he saw in the early morning light seemed quite familiar to Harry. It was difficult to think about Horcruxes in this surrounding.

Instead he remembered Ginny – Ginny who had started to slip from his memory in the past weeks making the time they had spent together seem increasingly like a dream. And then, yesterday evening, there she was, a pale, quiet Ginny in a worn pullover of chocolate brown and pink stripes, most probably knitted by her mother and clashing in a horrible way with her red hair. Her face looked white and miserable. Back at Hogwarts, even after Dumbledore's death she had seemed so strong and confident. Yesterday evening she told him they would talk to each other tomorrow and not right away. From that moment on he had only seen her from time to time under the lights partly illuminating the garden before she disappeared in the dark again, carrying chairs, flowers or candles.

What was he doing here? He shouldn't be here any more. Probably his presence alone was endangering the entire wedding party. He recalled the blown-up house of the Dursleys and started feeling hot and cold alternately.

Some of the others in the house began to stir. At ten o'clock a drawn-out breakfast was to start the celebration. One by one the guests would arrive and join in. At twelve o'clock the wedding ceremony was to be held in the garden.

Harry turned away from the window and frowned as he looked at his dress cloak that Hermione had put over his chair. "We left your trunk at Grimmauld Place. We didn't know if you would need it here or what your plans might be," had been her pointed remark yesterday evening. She had not forgiven him for not taking them along to Godric's Hollow.

There had been no time to report or have a detailed conversation yesterday. They had all sat in the Weasley kitchen, eating some soup before continuing preparations. And Harry had even been quite glad to plunge into this cheerful, expectant atmosphere, for a while ignoring thoughts about threat and death. But one thing was for certain: only this one day and then he would leave. He wasn't going to spend another day in the vicinity of people so dear to him.

Ten minutes later he had just put on his crumpled and smelly dress cloak – he had no idea how he was to dress this morning and he couldn't ask Ron because Ron was still asleep – as the peacefulness was disturbed because Fred and George apparated into the room the way they usually did. Their sense for business and their proficiency may have clearly improved since they ran the shop but otherwise they seemed unchanged.

"Good morning everybody!" they called vivaciously and Fred flicked a brown bean on Ron's pillow while he was still asleep.

"Well, Harry, all dressed up already? It's only half past six!"

"I couldn't sleep any longer. Is the dress cloak all right?"

"Mmh. Could do with some ironing – even washing, don't you think?" George asked and sniffed in his direction. "But on the whole it's ok. Take a seat far enough from the Delacours and you won't cause annoyance."

"To be honest, they will probably stay busy being irritated about the central figure. I guess they haven't overcome the shock they had two weeks ago."

"What happened?"

"They wanted to get to know Bill. A first visit, so to speak. Knew him only from photos and Phlegm's probably glossed over reports."

"I suppose Bill's hair and his ear ring that mum always raises such a heartrending hullabaloo about would have sufficed them completely. But our Bill had a bit more up his sleeve this time."

Harry remembered the terrible injuries to Bill's face by the werewolf Fenrir Greyback in that night five weeks ago. To his mind it was quite heartless the way the twins carried on.

"No, we're not talking about his face. But regretfully we had a full moon two weeks ago. The first since it happened."

Harry was shocked. "Then it did get him?"

"We don't exactly know. He went queer during that week, somehow broody, exploded at the drop of a hat. Sometimes it seemed he didn't know who we were."

"Quite apart from knowing who _he_ was!"

"Remus told mum to give him some Wolfsbane Potion."

"At the time the Delacours arrived he was asleep in the upper corridor. He had taken the potion the way he was supposed to, changed his clothes – and then just dropped where he was."

"He spent two complete days sleeping. Remus said we'd have to adapt the dose to suit him."

"But he didn't somehow – _transform_?"

"Well no, at least not in a way that could be recognized. But you should have seen Fleur, she nearly flipped out."

"Can't blame her," Harry murmured.

At that moment there was a hiss and a loud bang. Ron jumped out of bed and held a hand on one ear. "Are you totally nuts? Heck, I'm completely _deaf_!"

A lascivious red mouth floated hesitantly between them and then called "_Wake up, Won-Won_!" with a voice as clear as a bell.

Fred and George cackled away. Ron hit at the floating thing that instantly vanished.

"Wasn't that one good?"

"You can adjust it to say the required name."

"It is sure to work every time!"

"It won't from the third time on," Ron snarled. "You'd be deaf on both ears by then."

Harry felt shut off in a way because he simply didn't feel like laughing. "I'll go and brush my teeth," he remarked in a dull voice and was on his way.

oooOooo

On the corridor he met Molly; she was wearing her kitchen cloak and carrying a silk dress. The moment she saw him, she looked troubled. "Harry – Harry – just a word!" she said and gestured him to follow her into the kitchen.

They were alone at the time. There was an intense scent of coffee and fried bacon.

"Harry, you know you have become somewhat like a – one of my own sons to me. It is very important to me that you are happy, you have to believe me. But, Harry – I do ask you to avoid starting anything with Ginny again."

Although Harry had expected something of this kind, he had some difficulties to answer. "I – we –"

"I know, she told me everything. And I am convinced that your decision was right. She – she shouldn't be close to you now, do you understand? I nearly lost her to – to You-know-who once before. Please don't let him get her again!" There were tears in Molly's eyes. "Wait at least until – until mattes have been settled!"

Harry refrained from telling her that he might not be alive afterwards. He very well understood what she meant, she articulated his own apprehensions. But it hurt to hear someone put it in words. And deep inside there was this dire thought that she might have seen it differently if he had been one of _them_, a pure blooded wizard … He banished this thought but it took some effort and it always came buzzing around again like an annoying insect.

When he answered, his reply was a little curter than he had intended. "I told Ginny back at Hogwarts that we – that we would have to separate for the time being. She – she agreed to that."

"And she's suffering from it, Harry! Have a look at her!"

Harry murmured something. Yes, he had seen her.

"I have to get changed now, Harry. The first guests will soon arrive. Thank you for your understanding."

But not a word that she would be happy if I was Ginny's boyfriend otherwise, the dire voice inside him continued. If not Voldemort just happened to be after me.

oooOooo

The first moment he recognized the woman next to Percy, he thought Penelope Clearwater had put on quite some weight since she left school. Then he realized that she was pregnant.

"Mum, may I introduce you to –" Percy began in a standoffish way, "– Penelope, my wife. We got married in January."

Molly stared at him, and Harry wasn't the only one expecting quite a row following that. Instead she seemed to have gotten hold of herself and replied coolly, "That's reassuring considering the circumstances."

Fred and George, who were standing near by, sniggered. But too early as it turned out because there was a twitch in Molly's face, and then she rushed out of the room crying.

"Without even telling your family anything," they could hear her sob.

"Were you afraid we could compromise you again, Perce?" asked Fred.

"I believe that my achievements and my loyalty speak for themselves, thank you, Fred," Percy replied stiffly. "And now please excuse us. There are other people we would like to greet."

"Isn't he an awful _git_?" asked Ron. "What's he doing here – _we_ surely didn't invite him!"

"Come on, let's go and have breakfast," Harry said as he went down the stairs seeming worn-out. He had nearly reached the bottom of the stairs when he noticed that Ron hadn't joined him. "Oh boy, are you coming or not?"

But Ron just stared past Harry, into the milling crowd of guests in the hall below, with an absentminded kind of captivated expression. Harry followed his gaze and saw the Delacours directly at the foot of the stairs and with them Gabrielle, Fleur's little sister. And beside her –

Dressed in a long gown, the colour of blue birds' eggs, another girl was standing there with her family. A delicate, light blue veil enveloped her slim figure. Her exciting silvery blond hair was put up and adorned with several circular clips studded with stones also of a light blue colour. She was so beautiful that Harry forgot to breathe.

"Another sister of Fleur's?" he asked.

Ron nodded. "Fabienne. And she doesn't have a boyfriend!" he said. "At least that's what Fleur told us yesterday."

Harry became annoyed. "Do you think you're being fair to Hermione?"

"Fair?" Ron repeated, not exactly showing his brightest expression. "Hermione?"

"Oh, honestly, Ron! I thought you two had – worked it out by now." Stupid way of putting it, he thought. And – what am _I_ sticking my nose in this anyway!

"Ehm – haven't you noticed how she's been nagging at me all the time? She thinks I'm dim and doesn't miss an opportunity to rub it in. Do you think that turns me on?" Ron finally came down the stairs. "And it doesn't look like great love to me." He turned red and Harry realized that he had stirred up a hornet's nest.

"Don't worry about Hermione!" Ron said wryly. "Wait until you see her!"

A few seconds later Harry regretted his intervention even more. Hermione sat at the table that ran across the whole room and was big enough to seat at least thirty or forty people. And next to her sat Viktor Krum, engrossed in a lively conversation with her. Hermione saw Harry and Ron coming and gave them a glance hardly concealing triumph.

"Now do you understand what I'm talking about?" Ron said even more wryly now.

"What's Krum doing here?" Harry asked in total surprise.

"Oh, he's a wedding witness. Fleur invited him. Seems she wrote to him for years. Hermione was quite cross when she heard that. This ado is getting on my nerves!"

"Harry! Ron! Come and sit over here!" Hermione chirped at that moment.

"Come on, Ron, don't pull out without fighting," Harry said with a grin and they sat next to the other two.

As he saw the dishes filled with eggs and bacon, the plates of toast, the bowls of muesli with fruit – one of which was standing in front of Hermione – Harry noticed that he was hungry. While he lent an ear to Hermione squabbling with Krum and also listened to the comments Ron hissed to this on the other side of him, he ate his way through the pile of scrambled eggs with bacon, mushrooms and toast on his plate. After that he had a look at the motley company already gathered around the table. Every few minutes, new guests arrived with many hallos and loud conversation across the table. The Delacours looked slightly pinched-faced as they decided to be seated on the opposite end of the table, far away from the clamouring Weasley relatives and nearer to Lupin and Tonks.

Percy and Penelope finally came in too and sat down exactly opposite to Harry and Ron. Penelope gave Harry a distrustful glance and then looked away. He noticed that she uncomfortably picked at her food while Percy, self-assured as always, conversed in all directions. Harry heard that he told an elderly Gentleman who was obviously a member of the Weasley family, "The Minister will drop in later on. I will accompany him to London straight afterwards. Oh, by the way," he turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione, "I believe he also has a surprise for you."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked gloomily. "Will he have a bag of chocolate frogs for us or what else? Surprise – pah. What do you think how old we are?"

Percy eyed his brother with a frown. "Honestly, Ron, you should drop this childish behaviour. Minister Scrimgeour is going to be accompanied by a lady he's acquainted to, as far as I know." He paused for the effect.

"Oh, fine," Ron said rolling his eyes.

"An acquaintance you would surely like to meet. If I'm informed correctly – and I assume I am – this lady will be a new teacher at Hogwarts."

"What?"

"McGonagall is taking on a new teacher _now_?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Well yes, Defence Against the Dark Arts is vacant once more, isn't it?"

"Who is it?"

Percy was enjoying the interest his remark had aroused. "She spent the past years abroad. She's known to the ministry as a Legilimency specialist. Her name is Hekate Harper," he added with a triumphant look at his listeners.

Harry hadn't heard the name before and Ron seemed in the same situation. But, as in other cases, one could rely on Hermione.

"Hekate Harper – I know that name!" she called and sprayed some crumbs of muesli across her plate. "She wrote '_Interview with a Dementor'_. And a book on Azkaban. Hang on – '_Self-abandonment as catharsis'_ or something like that."

"Yes exactly," added Lupin who had followed the conversation with some interest for a while.

"Well, her interests seem to match the subject," murmured Ron.

"I thought her dead for years. I'm quite certain, I had heard of a lethal accident," said Lupin. "She studied at Hogwarts. Was a few years younger than we were and left the country shortly after she had finished, as far as I know. And McGonagall took her on?"

"The Minister recommended her," Percy stated in a way as though that explained everything.

"Oh heck, I won't survive another one like this Umbridge," Ron murmured.

Penelope, who had been getting more restless all the time, finally managed to get Percy's attention. She said a few things to him in a low voice and Harry could see her glimpsing at him now and again.

"But darling – honestly!"

A few more murmured remarks.

After that Percy stood up. "My wife would prefer another place to sit. Well, that's the way with pregnant women – you know what I mean!" But the glance that brushed Harry was cool. He took her arm and led her to an unoccupied chair as far away from Harry as possible.

"That was because of me!" Harry burst out. "She'd been giving me queer looks all the time. As if I had – an evil eye or something like that!"

A few minutes later Bill entered the room accompanied by a short, chubby man in a navy blue dress cloak with a white frill collar. Bill, considerably taller than the other man, was a shocking sight. Half of his face was a barely healed crater; obviously Greyback had torn a big piece out of his left cheek. The scar tissue had distorted his face and made one eye and one side of his mouth look a bit twisted. But he laughed happily at his guests. "Hello everybody! This is Antonius Merryweather from the Ministry, Department of Magical Rituals and Ceremonies. He is going to conduct our wedding ceremony today. Most of you already know him anyway."

Merryweather greeted the numerous guests with a friendly smile and took the next vacant seat – opposite to Harry and Ron – glancing along the table with a hungry look.

"I suppose I'll get dressed then," said Bill. "Has Charlie arrived yet?"

"He's outside with Fred and George. Blocking rehearsal with the band or something like that," Ron replied with his mouth full.

"There's going to be a band?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, _Taranis et ses Chiens_ – isn't that a great name!"

"Fleur had them come from France. Her brother Etienne, the dark, sinister looking guy that you threw these longing looks at earlier – he's a band member."

"Ron, you've really got some kind of a problem," Hermione said nerved.

Harry had eaten his fill and slowly the voices and pictures around him were blending into a swirl of sound and colour that seemed to have nothing to do with him. He sat in front of his plate which had last bits of scrambled egg and toast sticking to it and felt as though he was sinking into a cold, dark pit; deeper and deeper. Different voices surrounded him here, hissing, screeching and crazy. It was like an eerie echo resounding from dark passageways and dungeons.

oooOooo

Exactly at twelve o'clock – the bells of the town's church steeple had just rung out the time – everyone left their seats and gathered in the garden. To the sound of violin, flute and, believe it or not, bag pipes Bill and Fleur went up the aisle separating the rows of seats; heading for the front of the stand, toward two fragile looking chairs, lushly covered with exotic carving. One of Bill's former colleagues had brought the chairs along from Egypt for this wedding.

Bill wore a deep blue cloak with silver embroidery, the long red hair plaited at the back of his head; the ear ring that usually caused some annoyance had been replaced by an irregular, shining dark grey pearl. He looked radiant as he led his bride past all the admiring looks and managed an attractive appearance despite the injury.

"Now she's finally got it, her big entrance," Hermione hissed toward Harry the instant Fleur passed them. "Probably the most delightful moment of her life."

But Harry gaped at Fleur the way all the others did too. Her dress was shimmering in a light shade of early spring green and at first sight it seemed strapless and with a daring neck-line until a delicate lace became visible, veiling her neck and arms down to her wrists. In her silvery blond hair she wore a slender diadem – great-aunt Muriel's goblin made tiara, as Harry recalled. Fleur wore this sign of her victory over Molly with considerable pride.

As the bride had seated herself on the Egyptian chair with some effort, the guests quietened down. The official from the Ministry, Antonius Merryweather, stepped forward with measured steps to the middle of the wooden stand and stopped under the garland of summer flowers, facing the expectant audience. "Greetings! I extend a warm welcome to all of you, the Weasley and Delacour families, friends and colleagues and especially the bride and groom, Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley."

He had a clear, calm voice and spoke in a friendly and very dignified way. "In these dark days with indications of peril presenting a continuously increasing threat, your mutual decision to get married is a sign of hope that should encourage all of us. This should of course especially apply to yourselves when you now join your lives in the uncertain times to come; for you, Bill, it is unsure what the future holds. And Fleur, you bind yourself to a man who is not only marked by evil but also bears a poison inside, knowing that he will have to fight it for the rest of his life. You have both taken a courageous decision to adhere to your love and we sincerely thank you for that."

Merryweather stepped toward both of them. "We would now be happy to witness your unbreakable vow of faith and love. Please kneel down."

As both of them knelt down, facing each other, Harry saw a small table with a glass goblet standing between them. On either side of the goblet were Bill's and Fleur's wands.

"Join your right hands."

They did as instructed. He touched their hands with the tip of his wand. "Do you, William Jonathan Weasley, want to take this woman, Fleur Adrienne Delacour, for your beloved wife, to love and honour until death doth you part?"

"I do," answered Bill. A sparkling, dark red flame wound itself around their entwined hands.

"Do you, Fleur Adrienne Delacour, want to take this man, William Jonathan Weasley, for your beloved husband, to love and honour until death doth you part?"

"Yes, I do," Fleur answered without an accent. A gleaming silver band joined the red band and wove around their hands, linking their wrists like a bracelet.

_Love_, Harry thought. The weapon against Voldemort. The power unknown to the Dark Lord. Dumbledore believed it's in me. But is that true?

As he thought about love, it wasn't Ginny he was thinking about and even less Ron and Hermione. No, funny enough it was this silly little amulet his mother possibly had been keeping for who knows how many years and finally stashed away in this glass frame.

"Then I now declare you husband and wife before these witnesses," Merryweather continued with a smile.

Without standing up or letting their hands go, they kissed each other in the presence of their applauding guests.

"Remus Lupin and Victor Krum, bride and groom have chosen you to be their witnesses. Are you willing, to the best of your ability, to support Bill and Fleur to cope with the life they want to spend together and to assist them in keeping their mutual vows?"

"Yes, we are," answered both and laid their hands on those of Bill and Fleur.

Up to this point the ceremony seemed quite familiar to Harry although he was fairly shocked that the marriage vow between witch and wizard was unbreakable. Did that mean that if one of them broke the vow, they would have to die? He would have to ask Hermione that question.

But obviously the wedding ceremony hadn't ended yet. When the audience fell silent again, Merryweather said to the couple, "Please exchange your wands now."

Bill took his wand and gave it to Fleur and she passed her wand to Bill. Then Bill raised Fleur's wand – rosewood with the hair of a Veela, as Harry recalled, 'an individualistic wand!' Ollivander had called it – and said, "I want to be your light when everything turns dark. _Lumos_!" And Fleur's wand really lit up brightly and the light enveloped both of them. Harry saw pink sparkles flashing inside.

Fleur raised Bill's wand with a tense face, paused for a short moment and then said with a smile, "Let me be your water whenever you are thirsty. _Aguamenti_!" Sparks sprayed from Bill's wand and dropped into the goblet between them, filling it with clear water.

Now there was applause and Harry joined in. He knew that it always was a risk to use somebody else's wand.

"It worked," said Hermione, seeming a little surprised. "Apparently they match better than we thought."

"What's that thing with the vow?" Harry was quick to ask. "Does that mean they have to die if they ever – ehm – break the vow?"

"That somehow always shocks the men," Hermione said disparagingly. Harry was slowly asking himself why she was in such a bad temper. "But if it puts you at ease: no. This vow can be dissolved if necessary. But I think it should be done _before_ the vow is broken. A really good thing to my mind."

oooOooo

After the wedding ceremony a sparkling wine was served. It was pink and threw a large number of bubbles in the glasses at regular intervals, making a noise like a belching dragon while this happened. The bride's mum was disgusted and put her glass straight on the next tray being carried around as this first occurred. Molly must have apologized about a hundred times afterwards saying that she had accidentally bought the wrong kind of wine and didn't even notice how Fred and George smirked.

Harry wandered aimlessly amidst the small groups of people, increasingly convinced that he shouldn't be here. The necessity of finally finding a quiet place to sit and think grew in him continuously. He saw Hermione, Gabrielle, Fabienne and Ron who had been joined by Merryweather who was holding a filled glass that obviously was not his first one. In the company of the girls he turned out to be fairly talkative and boastful under the gloss of professional dignity. His affable smile also embraced Harry as he joined them reluctantly.

"Yes, surely it's always a risk when the people really do magic. Many simply exchange their wands and refrain from anything beyond this symbolic gesture. Well educated magicians usually use a simple spell the way Bill and Fleur did. Water and light are the favourite ones because of the special meaning. And of course that's something you learn at school, simple, as I said. Even if someone is quite a good witch or wizard, one could be a bit intimidated, couldn't one, because of the nervousness and with so many people watching?"

"Has it ever happened that it didn't work?" Hermione asked, remembering that _Aguamenti_ had not exactly been easy for everybody at school the year before –

"Oh yes. Mostly nothing at all happens. Sometimes the person misses the spell so to say and it turns out completely different. There are sure to be some having a laugh, though this is unlikely to include bride and groom. Only very few people dare attempt a really difficult spell; no one would want to spoil their wedding, would they? But with Aurors it's quite popular to call up the partner's Patronus. A very difficult matter!"

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" Merryweather suddenly turned to Harry who at that instant would have preferred to leave. He had meanwhile started to hate people recognizing him.

"Yes," he answered in resignation.

The man returned a little smile. "I recognized you at the table earlier on. I was the official at your parents' wedding ceremony," he continued unexpectedly. "I believe they had not yet started training to be Aurors at the time but had the required ambition to give it a try."

"Give it a try?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"Well, Mr. Potter had no problem. But the bride needed three tries until it worked. Twice she called up her own Patronus with her husband's wand, quite an achievement at that, although hardly anyone realized it at the time. There was a lot of laughter at that wedding. You hardly ever get to see so many unicorns!"

"Her Patronus was a unicorn?" asked Harry.

"Yes, and very nice. Well, there were some nasty comments from a few older guests from the Pepperleaf side. Your mother had Muggle ancestors if I recall correctly, didn't she? And the Pepperleafs were somewhat pure-blood fanatics. They retraced their ancestors directly back to Gryffindor, didn't they? They didn't consider the bride worthy of their last offspring."

"Harry – then you've got Gryffindor blood in you!" Hermione remarked excitedly.

"Oh sure, and a lot of pure, first class Muggle blood! Quit it, Hermione, you surely won't measure any importance to this stuff about blood!"

"No, it's about the ancestry! Don't you understand, you would be a descendant of Godric Gryffindor, possibly the only one!"

"Well, well – I'm not sure to what extent they were entitled to claiming this! They had been living in this town, Godric's Hollow was it, the place where the tragedy later happened? Maybe the town contributed somewhat to a – a kind of legend building." The Ministry official didn't seem happy with the direction in which their conversation had headed. "By the way, the wedding cake is just being cut, isn't it? Let's walk over." And clearly delighted by his adorning company he went off.

Harry stayed back on his own. It was queer how everybody had started telling him something about his parents in the past days after he hadn't heard anything about them, all those previous years.

He didn't feel like having cake and even less after taking a look at Ginny's pale face. The words Molly said that morning hurt more than he had expected. For a while he watched the bustle around the cake counter; then he sighed and made his way straight to Ginny.

"Come on, let's take a little walk," he said and felt his heart beat hard.

"Mum's already got you with her blathering, am I right?" asked Ginny, looking sinister and stabbing a piece of icing with her cake fork. He just nodded.

"Okay." She put her plate down on a table they passed, left the garden and headed into town.

"What's the difference in the end?" Ginny asked sullenly. She hadn't even kissed him. "When it comes to it, she says the same thing you do."

"Yes."

"Did you miss me in the past weeks?" she asked suddenly and straight forward.

Harry felt wretched. He realized that he had hardly missed her because he had spent his time in a no-where-place. But how was he supposed to explain that?

Ginny stopped walking when she got no reply. Her dark brown eyes sceptically stared at him. "Harry?"

"Sure I missed you. But – I don't know how to explain it to you, Ginny."

"Don't bother," was her cool reply.

"Please, we shouldn't fight. I feel as though I shouldn't even be _thinking_ about you for the time being. Do you understand?"

"I understand one thing for sure. You – you don't feel the same way I do. And that really hurts."

At a slight turn of his head he could see a tear drop run down her nose. Despite everything, he couldn't even put his arm around her. Oh great, he thought. I really am the man for love. He clenched his fists in his pockets and his fingers touched metal. Then they closed around something that was round and smooth. The fake Horcrux.

"Ginny, give me a few weeks time. Just imagine I was up against something like the Triwizard Tournament – or preparing for an exam or –"

"How stupid do you think I am, Harry? By the way, exams there are. Final exams!" she reminded him when she saw his confused expression. "Or not?" she added tensely. "Will you be returning to Hogwarts with us?"

"I – I simply don't know." He was desperately looking for something that would lead this conversation to an agreeable end. "At the moment I just don't know how to continue. There are a few things I have to settle. On my own, I believe. And the time we had together now seems so distant, beautiful and happy but an awful long way off. I would like to remember it and think of you but – I'm too scared to do that."

Because I might run away and probably take you along. I would possibly try to convince myself that we could go in hiding in the Muggle world and forget all this nonsense about Horcruxes, Voldemort and Dementors. That was the thought that flared up in his mind.

Ginny was the one to touch his arm. "I think, maybe I do understand," she said in a soft voice. "I just don't like it. But you're right; let's return before Moody and the remaining Order comes looking for us." Her hand carefully pushed some of the hair aside that had grown too long on his forehead and tenderly touched the scar.

Run away, was Harry's confused thought. Away from here. With her. To London. No, better abroad. New York. Canada.

"Come on," she gently said and took his hand.

They walked back to the Burroughs hand in hand. Things had quietened down a bit here because they were all having a break before the celebration was to be continued in the early evening with music, dancing and plenty of food. They sat down under a tree in the garden along with Ron and Hermione and gossiped about how the wedding went so far and about the guests, especially Percy and Penelope showed up in a bad light.

And for two hours they were just good friends on a beautiful summer day.

oooOooo

Dusk fell and the first sounds of the violin came from the stand. A short while later all the guests had returned to the garden and were listening to wild Irish dancing music.

"They must have gotten something mixed up, these French musicians," Ron complained.

"Oh, shut up! I think it's great!" Hermione called and clapped along with the others when Bill and Fleur went up on the stand to address the guests and after a few sentences commenced dancing.

Harry watched all the others dance, laugh, eat and drink while it was slowly getting darker and the colourful lights and smoke mortars from _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_ illuminated the cheerful faces. He was growing more and more uneasy. The feeling that peril was closing in became more distinct with every breath.

He was wondering if he should go inside when he saw a couple which had just come from the house and was entering the garden. He immediately recognized the tall man with a mane of grey hair, walking like a lion. The woman walking next to the Minister of Magic looked short in comparison but with her vigorous stride seemed to have no difficulty keeping up. She had white hair down to her shoulders but when she came closer, Harry could see that her face wasn't old yet.

He had lingered a bit too long. Scrimgeour had spotted him and headed straight for him. "Good to find you here, Mr. Potter," he said instead of greeting.

He came here because of me, Harry realized in an instant.

Scrimgeour hardly took the time to introduce Hekate Harper, who was accompanying him –

an information Harry would have been keen to have at any other point – and continued to speak, trying to sound friendly. "I need a word with you, Mr. Potter. Please follow me inside. I'm sure Arthur and Molly won't mind if we go indoors to talk."

Harry didn't waste time on a contradiction. Hekate Harper meanwhile stayed outside.

They stood in the drawing room where nobody else was. Music could be heard through the open windows and Harry longingly looked at the milling crowd of people outside underneath the flickering lights. Somehow he had this sense of inevitability, knowing it was over now.

Scrimgeour sized him coldly while Harry stood there still holding a plate of titbits from the buffet.

"Yes, we have to talk," he repeated. "And to give us a chance to enjoy this evening just for a while, I will come straight to the point. I know that you are not so fond of diplomatic ado."

Harry remained silent.

"I don't want to withhold from you that in the Ministry – and elsewhere as far as I heard – there has been renewed talk about the rumours that had now and then come up for years, saying that only a highly gifted black witch or wizard could stand up against Voldemort. I personally think that's nonsense. A baby is a baby no matter how gifted a magician it might be either for black or white magic – such abilities can only be developed in many years of studying and training. No; as far as I'm concerned, you were incredibly lucky at the time that Voldemort failed in his first attempt."

Scrimgeour paused here and Harry wondered if changing from the Aurors' office to being the Minister of Magic had any influence on his capability of building sentences. When there was no reaction to what he had said, the Minister continued and the signs of annoyance increased.

"I want to clearly state that a rising number of people meanwhile seem to believe that you might possibly not be on the right side anymore. It is strange to some extent to see what happens to people who get close to you. People who are amongst the most capable witches and wizards in our society, if I might add that." Scrimgeour was pleased to notice that Harry turned pale and had difficulties trying to hold his temper.

"Are you saying that I was involved in Dumbledore's death? In the death of my parents and my godfather –?"

"We don't want to start getting over-emotional, Mr. Potter," Scrimgeour replied gloatingly. "But I would like to remind you that for the last incident – Dumbledore's murder, Snape's flight – the only eye witness is – _you_. And you're keeping vital information to yourself, as you have already admitted. You simply denied your headmistress, Professor McGonagall, the required details as to where you had been with Dumbledore – in the light of what happened that's utterly preposterous. I neither understand nor approve McGonagall's reluctance in this matter. In June I already thought it necessary that the Wizengamot should hear you on this once more. You have to share your knowledge – if need be using Legilimency."

The Minister waited until that word had sunk in. Harry stood there with his plate of titbits and would have liked to use it to hit Scrimgeour in the face. "I don't think that you can force me to a Legilimentation. As far as I heard, I have to agree to it – except if –"

"Except if there is a reasonable suspicion for a serious crime. Right, Mr. Potter. I believe you have the choice: voluntarily tell us whatever you know, completely and in detail. Help us convict your mentor's murderer."

"I told who the murderer is. It is your job to find him, isn't it?"

"You put the blame on someone, that's true. But although Severus Snape's past has – ehm – some blemishes, Dumbledore trusted him in the last one and a half decades –"

"Dumbledore was mistaken – he was _deceived_!"

"– and furthermore, the member Professor Snape was of great service to the Order of the Phoenix. Whereas it is common knowledge at your school that you have an unfounded resentment against Professor Snape – ever since you started there."

"Enough is enough! You –"

"No, Mr. Potter. It will do from _your_ side. Enough of your stubbornness, your presumption. The straw that broke the camel's back was the explosion of the Muggle house yesterday. Your aunt's house, the house you were raised in. Magic was used and until we have more information, you're under house arrest. I took the official order along. You will not leave the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix until you have my permission. Mr. Moody is informed and will escort you to that – well, _there_ at the end of the party."

Harry stood there shocked. Too late, was all he could think; I ruined my chance.

"And I will have you summoned, Potter. You will report on every detail – or I will have Legilimency used because of suspected abetting murder." Scrimgeour measured him with his penetrating amber coloured eyes and then left him standing where he was.

As soon as Harry had recovered enough to be able to move, he returned to the garden. The band played a slow piece and Harry noticed several couples dancing tight, including Molly and Arthur Weasley. He saw Hermione standing on the side, under the trees, and grateful for that he went over to her.

"What happened? I saw you go in the house with Scrimgeour."

"He put me under house arrest. Grimmauld Place. Until I'm summoned. To an interrogation with Legilimency."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief.

At that moment the music stopped and frightened voices could be heard through the mild darkness of the summer night. In the sudden silence a woman's anguished cry was clearly audible.

"Azkaban has been seized!"


	5. Gold, Snakes, and Blood

**MaskOfComedy and matt:** thank you for your comments and interest! And again thanks a lot to Threecornerjack for her translation.

**Chapter Five:**

**Gold, Snakes, and Blood**

**(Translated by Threecornerjack)**

As though he had fallen into a deep, dark pit – days ago, maybe weeks – Snape tried to wake up and return to the surface of reality.

He didn't know how much time had passed. Every bone in his body hurt and the light that passed the barrier of his eye lids burned in his head. He noticed a smell, sweet and bitter and stunning, lying heavily on his senses before he had really woken up. As he finally managed to open his eyes, the strange and utterly unexpected surrounding shocked him.

A sluggish whirl of gold, pale red and black made him feel dizzy. Slowly he sat up and with unsure hands threw back a cover of gold and black brocade; then held his head with both hands hoping that the room would stand still. It did; but a part of his view seemed to be slanted to one side; he decided to put up with this.

He sat on a big bed with channelled golden bed posts that stretched into the high room bearing a tester of black velvet. His feet, still with his heavy boots on, touched a cold stone floor made up of innumerable angular white, black and rose-red tiles arrange to a mosaic that confused the eye.

The walls were made of black stone plates and, taking a closer look, he saw a relief cut into them. He groaned, not only because his body felt as though he had been run over by a carriage but also in horror because of the disgusting pictures of agony and death that ran around the walls.

Tired and exhausted he turned away. The light that had earlier seemed so glaring came from numerous lit lamps on the walls and on a small table in front of a floor-to-ceiling window covered with deep red curtains.

He had just taken a few steps into the room when he saw a movement from the corner of his eye. He headed for a recess let in on the wall opposite the window and noticed that it contained a mirror as high as the room, in a richly carved, gold plated frame. His reflection came towards him, sinister and worn amidst all of the splendour. Not until that moment did he notice that he was still wearing the torn cloak, partly singed and bearing other traces of the fighting, reminding him of the night – how long ago? His face, as white as ever, topped by his filthy and tangled hair, frowned at him. What had he been up to in the mean time? How had he come to this place?

"Well, Severus," a well-known voice said, "you woke up at last!" And Voldemort came right out of the mirror and stepped in front of Snape, who put up some effort to keep his calm.

"I have summoned you, my prince." Voldemort's smile held a touch of mockery. "And of course you came immediately. But you seemed quite exhausted from your deeds and I allowed you to rest." Voldemort took a few buoyant steps into the room and then turned to Snape who had so far remained silent. "How do you like your room in my Palace?"

Snape had immediately noticed the change in his master's appearance. Covering the snake-like face of Voldemort was a ghostly mask of the handsome Tom Riddle, thin enough to let the flat, reptilian features shine through eerily. An aura of renewed power and energy that surrounded the tall figure was enhanced by luxurious cloths; a cloak made of heavy brocade, repeating the dominant colours gold, night-black and rose-red of the surrounding room and a high tiara kind of hat resembling those worn by Babylonian priests on ancient pictures.

He has experienced a tremendous increase in power since Dumbledore's death, thought Snape. And _I_ caused it …

Voldemort bent towards a pitcher holding long-stalked flowers Snape hadn't noticed before. It contained white lilies and their perfume was the reason for the intoxicating scent in the room.

"This Palace, this fortress at last is a worthy setting for my supremacy. And finally there is also an appropriate place for your activities. Before that, we have to welcome our friends; there are important matters to be discussed." His eyes measured Snape with a combination of pleasure and mockery. "But first of all we have to amend your appearance, my dear friend."

He opened a small door next to the flower pitcher. "Look here!" He pulled a cloak out of an abundantly filled wardrobe and put it over Snape's arm while Snape looked perplexed. Dark green velvet bordered with a golden edging bearing tiny embroidered white flowers.

"Considering your rank, you will find everything to dress yourself adequately." At that he opened another narrow door and left Snape alone in a spacious bathroom with a tub let into the mosaic covered floor. Gold and red, mirrors and crystal chandeliers repeated themselves in here as well. The paintings that decorated the walls showed numerous figures which moved lasciviously through scenes Snape would have preferred not to have seen. But the bath tub with steaming water was so inviting that he didn't care about the surroundings for the time being.

oooOooo

Some time later Snape was escorted through the mirror clad golden corridors by an obviously mute house-elf. Here and there narrower paths branched to one side or the other with details lost in dimness but Snape could at intervals hear screams and other sounds of torture behind the barely recognizable doors.

At last the elf pushed open a carved double door and Snape stepped past him into what seemed at first sight a circular hall with a high ceiling. The floor was laid with black stones whereas the walls were covered with mirrors as though this room was to keep nothing from anybody's view. The light reflected from the chandelier that was suspended from the centre of the dome shaped ceiling, throwing thousands of sparks, added to this impression.

Snape was being expected; about forty people stood next to each other as a silent circle. Voldemort turned to him. "Ah, here he comes. Severus, complete our circle!"

Snape stood next to Voldemort and looked around. No hoods today, no masks. The closest circle of followers, most of them had known each other for years anyway. He was amazed to see a pale and exhausted Lucius Malfoy, whom he had thought to be in Azkaban, standing on the other side of Voldemort. The next was Bellatrix Lestrange who gave Snape a squint-eyed look.

"Now we have all gathered, my Death Eaters. As all of you know, there is cause for celebration. Thanks to Severus Snape, the greatest enemy that stood in the way of our aims has been eliminated. There is only one person left to obstruct our plans of establishing the kind of society we have dreamed of for so many years. And he is hardly more than a boy, not yet a man. Without Dumbledore, Harry Potter is as helpless as a child. It won't be long until he is defeated."

Voldemort interrupted himself at this point and looked at the white faces of those gathered around him with his gleaming red eyes. It might have been the apprehension he saw that irritated him, causing a short look of annoyance on his ghostlike double face. "Yes, we will celebrate, you fainthearted. I have built me a palace that can be matched by no other. My followers will find anything they might desire within these walls."

And suddenly lights flared up illuminating an oblong part of the hall that had been dark until then. Beneath two large round chandeliers of black metal with ivory coloured candles the Death Eaters saw a long festive board set with an abundance of food and drink. Precious china, crystal and cutlery shimmered on the white damask table cloth and large flower arrangements completed the magnificent sight.

Snape could see the bubbles rising in the crystal goblets and the tiny drops of water condensed on the outside because of the cold beverage within. At that moment he noticed how thirsty he was.

"But first of all there are some matters to be settled!" the sharp voice called him back. "Severus, my faithful prince, crown prince to my power –" Voldemort turned to Snape with a mocking undertone, "you were a bit too eager. It wasn't your assignment to kill Dumbledore. And your task as spy at Hogwarts can no longer be continued. Who will keep me up to date now?"

The following silence was quite unexpectedly interrupted by Bellatrix Lestrange. "My Lord," she began a little breathless and it was obvious that she had been burning for the opportunity to share the news. "Hekate Harper has turned up again! I learned from a source at the Ministry that she has been taken on as a teacher at Hogwarts!"

This information led to some barely suppressed murmuring. Snape was quite consternated and assumed that it was the same with the others. But Voldemort smiled with his regained Riddle face. "I know that, Bellatrix!" he commented.

"But it was said that she died years ago!" Avery, standing next to Bellatrix, burst out with the remark.

"My Lord, she betrayed you!" Bellatrix panted. "Where has she been all these years – and how come Dumbledore's successor took her on?"

"Hekate Harper, my little snake!" Voldemort whispered and a distorted kind of gruesome tenderness shone on his features. "Of course I know where she is, Bellatrix. I always know where she is."

"But she doesn't belong to us!" Bellatrix burst out with a pain filled look at Voldemort.

He eyed her with a hint of mockery. "Bellatrix, my dear long time friend, she doesn't have to. She need not be one of you as long as she's one of mine! And she is my most excellent student. She has helped me stay alive twice."

Nobody spoke. Bellatrix breathed heavily.

"Hekate Harper applied for the job at Hogwarts because I told her to," Voldemort added in a concluding voice. "Thanks to Severus' over eagerness he can be of no further use to me there. That's why I sent Hekate. – And that brings us back to you, Severus."

His voice had turned glacial. The unblinking eyes were fixed to the motionless Snape. "You acted on your own account and did the job this little dud was to do and then brought him home to his mother. Now, isn't that touching?"

"I had no other means of action, my Lord," Snape replied calmly, sustaining the gaze. "The situation did not allow postponing the necessary steps."

"Yes, I understand what you mean. But despite that we will have to hold court today. – Draco Malfoy, come in!" he called and this made Snape jerk. Draco here?

The same house-elf again opened the double door and escorted two most desperate looking figures inside without showing any signs of emotion. Draco tripped over his own feet and his mother kept him from falling. With a helpless stare he looked at the people composing the circle until he found his father who evaded eye contact. Narcissa Malfoy tightly held his arm but looked as though she herself badly needed support. Her long blond hair was carelessly held back and Snape also noticed immediately that she had muddled up the buttons on her dress. Her long, pale face, once showing all the nobility of centuries of a pure blooded wizarding ancestry, now was a mask of desperation. Tears continuously ran down her frozen features.

Involuntarily Snape glanced at Lucius Malfoy. There was no help for both from this side as Voldemort beckoned them to enter the now open circle.

"Let us welcome Draco Malfoy – and his grieving mother!"

Draco tried to say something but he only managed an unintelligible stammering. Snape knew the cause all too well and his insides cramped.

"Draco, you had my order to kill Albus Dumbledore. Tell us what happened, what prevented you from carrying out this assignment?"

More stammering. But at least there were no tears, not from Draco.

Voldemort listened to the futile effort to utter a comprehensible word for a while. Then he cut off his efforts with a short gesture. "Lucius, speak for your son! Did he act in a way that would leave him worthy to join this circle, what do you think?"

"No, my Lord," Malfoy said quietly.

"Did he manage to clean the family honour of the mistake his father made?"

Malfoy shook his head. "No, my Lord," he said in even lower voice.

"And what do you believe got in his way? His head? His hand? His – heart?"

There was a breathless silence. The festive table in the background fell into oblivion; the scents that came from the food caused a feeling of nausea to Snape. Voldemort's angry gaze moved around the assembly and then enveloped Draco Malfoy.

"Well, Draco, you tell me. Why did you fail? What failed? Head? Heart? Or only the hand?"

Draco mutely shook his head, wide eyed.

"Maybe you can free him from his speechlessness, Severus?" Voldemort said in a sharp voice.

Snape lifted his wand ponderously and murmured, "_Finite_!" But Draco remained silent.

"Then, for Draco's sake, we will assume that it was only his hand that denied the action, won't we?"

"Oh my Lord, please forgive him. He is only – a child!" Narcissa cried and fell on the ground before Voldemort. He pulled the hem of his cloak from her hands with a look of disgust and turned to Lucius.

"I can't punish Draco by taking his life although he would have deserved it. But his death would bereave me of something that I don't want to miss presently."

He knows it, Snape thought. Of course he knows it.

"Lucius, you know that I will not let failure go unpunished, don't you?"

Again Draco's father nodded.

"You are still indebted to me, aren't you? I am still waiting for a proof of your loyalty. Today is your chance!"

Snape felt how the nausea was increasing again. He knew Voldemort well enough to anticipate what was to follow. Malfoy shuddered. On a gesture from Voldemort the black stone floor in the middle of the circle turned itself up and formed a basin standing on the body of a coiled snake. The Death Eaters retreated.

"Bring your son here, Lucius," Voldemort hissed. He suddenly held a long glinting sword in his hands. Malfoy took the apparently totally aboulic Draco by the arm and led him to the black stone basin.

"Which hand betrayed me, Draco Malfoy?"

Shakily Malfoy put his left hand out. Voldemort laughed. "A true Slytherin even now! Draco, I know you are right-handed!"

And at this moment a black snake darted from the basin and pinned Draco's right arm to the stone rim leaving his wrist free over the bowl.

"Lucius, you will punish Draco! You will call your own flesh and blood to order!" With these words Voldemort handed the sword to Lucius Malfoy.

"_No_!" Narcissa screamed. "No, Lucius, he is _your son_!"

After hesitating quite a while, Malfoy lifted the sword. Snape heard the whizzing sound as the blade cut the air.

Did it really grow darker at this instant? For a dizzying moment Snape thought he saw the true face of all the glittering splendour surrounding him as it broke down to a pool of milling black snakes – the mirror frames, the crystal drops on the chandeliers and the stones that the walls and floor were made of. Even on the gowns of the surrounding people there seemed to be a winding. For a short moment he felt so sick that he feared he would vomit.

The hissing sound of the falling blade – then the sound of metal hitting stone split the dreadful silence. Screams. And blood.

Tearing pain in his right arm made Snape give a start. A crimson band went around his wrist with blood running from it to the floor. The screams from Draco and Narcissa distracted the others so that they didn't notice Snape who hurriedly wrapped his hand into the seam of his cloak. He fought hard not to cry out and double over on the ground in pain as the poor unfortunate Draco did while his bleeding hand lay in the black bowl and Lucius just stood there, the bloody sword in his hand, not seeming to know where he was.

But Voldemort moved his knowing eyes from Draco to Snape, where they rested. His look said: _I'm watching you. I can wait._

Snape saw how his blood seeped through his new cloak and how it turned the tiny white blossoms red. These where lilies, too, as he noticed at that moment.

"Alright, Death Eaters! Justice has been done! Let's have something to eat now!" Voldemort called.

And all of them, in the end being Death Eaters, sat down at the festive table while the house-elves, still with no sign of emotion, led Draco and his mother out again, into the depth of this dreadful palace.

oooOooo

Voldemort sat down at the head of the long table but didn't take part in the meal. He watched the three house-elves to ensure that they served correctly.

"It's of some advantage that they're mute," Avery finally said with a meaningful glance at the frail elf who was refilling his wine glass. "This constant drivelling and whining Master this and Master that, really gets on your nerves after a while. Which muting charm did you use, my Lord?"

Voldemort smiled. "Show it to him, elf," he said in a harsh voice. "Open your mouth."

The elf was shaking so badly with fear because she had caught the attention of her master that she let the bottle of wine slip and it shattered on the stone floor. When an inarticulate cry came from her mouth Avery and Snape, who was sitting next to him, saw that her tongue had been cut out.

"There is nothing that could silence them better," Voldemort said. "And now clean that up," he hissed at the elf who was crouching on the floor.

The food was delicious. But Snape had to force himself with every bit; his wrist, though no longer bleeding, hurt badly. Finally he sipped at the wine, relaxed and paid closer attention to his surroundings to distract himself from the pain.

Lucius Malfoy sat next to him with a face as pale as clay and moving as though he had been wound up. Snape asked himself if he was paralysed by the horror of what he had done to his son or if it was more likely the fear of possibly having lost Voldemort's favour for good. In any case he didn't join in the conversation and instead gobbled up pieces of potatoes, meat and vegetables, not caring that every second piece dropped on his lap and the gravy dripped off his chin.

"Your palace is magnificent, my Lord," Bellatrix called, still with this flicker in her dark eyes usually noticeable after she'd witnessed cruelty. She got as close to Voldemort as she possibly could and only ate morsels, moving excitedly. "And you've got a new cook as well. But of course, how else could it be."

Embarrassed looks came from a few more sensitive Death Eaters.

"I mean the last time we were your guests –"

"We all know what you mean, Bellatrix. The cook you considered so offending was useful to us in another way."

"I never understood how you could bear the presence of this – this filthy Muggle!"

"I had my reasons, Bellatrix. Amy Benson might not have been a good cook but she was my first servant. And even in her death she served me."

Bellatrix frowned and bent over her plate.

Snape again wondered how it could be that someone with so little emotional discipline was able to survive in the vicinity of Voldemort for so long. Then his thoughts wandered back to the house where many years ago Voldemort had sometimes gathered and hosted his followers. It had been a large house although only an old dwelling place all the same, in a run-down part of London where nobody asked questions when queer looking figures went in and out or it was noisy all through the night. Book shelves to the ceiling, worn out arm chairs and threadbare carpets covering creaking floor boards. And amongst all this the meek and woebegone Amy Benson served as house keeper, cook and maid for all work. She opened the door when the Death Eaters arrived; she took their cloaks, served the meals and cleared the table afterwards.

Snape sometimes asked himself why Voldemort kept a Muggle instead of a house-elf. Finally he had assumed that she was something like a mascot. Another object he had collected as time went by and then made use of while he kept her. He forced his thoughts away from what he remembered about how Amy Benson ended and listened to the conversation around him.

oooOooo

At last the quails, lamb chops, cheese and fruit had been eaten. Remembering previous evenings of this kind, Snape asked himself with a feeling of resignation what was to follow. The pain in his wrist had lessened and finally he was able to feel something like gratitude that he had kept his hand although he was not able to use it properly at the time.

"My friends, let us play!" Voldemort suddenly called after he had listened for quite some time, following the general conversation that became more relaxed because of the wine. "I have prepared a special entertainment for this evening. At the same time I will be able to judge the standard of your ability. Join me!" He got up from the table, went to the round part of the hall and stopped next to the black snake basin. "Be seated!"

Not until then did Snape notice the dark wooden seats resembling choir stalls that were arranged around the mirrored curve of the walls. The others seemed amazed, too, and Snape assumed that the seats had only appeared shortly previous. Everyone found a seat and then waited in the wide circle, tense as school children following a new experiment.

"And now we will play Theatre. _'The Theatre of the Inferi',_ I believe would be the fitting title for our game." He clapped his hands and a door in the mirror clad wall sprang open. With unsteady and shuffling steps a number of half naked creatures pushed their way inside. Their fishlike white skin did not seem to bear the brightness of the hall. They screeched and whimpered and with blind eyes seemed to look for cover from the light. The seated Death Eaters held their breath as they tried to conceal the shudders of fear and disgust caused by this sight.

Voldemort commenced speaking while the Inferi all crouched at the foot of the snake basin like a teeming heap. "These are your actors, my friends! They await your will to conduct them to the orders you want them to obey. Entertain me, my Death Eaters! Give me a diversion this evening by staging your dark wishes and fantasies. Amuse your Lord!"

While he sat down on a carved chair, the Inferi showed the only longing they were left with, the hunger for live meat. Sniffing, some of them started on their way toward the Death Eaters, moving slowly and awkwardly but purposefully and determined. One of them reached a trembling woman whose name Snape didn't know and with a sudden move dug its teeth into her leg. She jumped up screaming and tried to escape the corpse on bleeding legs with the other Death Eaters breaking out in peals of laughter.

As her attempt to escape led her to the table and caused her to trip over one of the elves that was clearing the dishes, Voldemort raised his wand again and instantly the Inferius ceased pursuing his victim and returned to his group with dangling arms.

Then Bellatrix jumped up, an evil glint in her eyes, lifted her wand and pointed it on the basin of black stone that still contained poor Draco's hand. She made a short sharp gesture with her wand, murmured a word and the hand flew into the circle of crouching Inferi, trailing a veil of blood drops. They jumped up, screeching, trying to push each other aside, to get that piece of still warm meat. A woman with black hair caught the flying hand with her teeth and hurriedly staggered away from the other Inferi with her prey. These followed her with beastlike howls but Bellatrix' wand retained them for a moment.

Voldemort gave an affected applause while the female Inferius tore bits of meat from Draco's hand and gulped them up. Where he sat, Snape was able to hear the bones snap as she bit off an entire finger. He also heard Lucius Malfoy, sitting next to him, whimper while he clawed the fingers of both hands into his face.

"Very nice, Bella, very skilful! Still a mistress of horror, aren't you?"

Unbelievable as it was, Bellatrix flushed with the happiness of being praised by her master. With added enthusiasm she lifted the magic barrier she had imposed on the remaining Inferi. Emitting wild howls they immediately jumped on the one already feeding. Snape turned his eyes from Bellatrix in disgust and watched the bustle of the Inferi without emotion. The woman who had devoured Draco's hand then shared its fate. In their tangled bodies, Snape only caught sight of her left upper arm. It was adorned by a tattoo of Chinese writing; he new this was fashion with the Muggles at the time.

What a strangely pitiful sight it was.

oooOooo

On that evening the competition between Avery and Bellatrix got out of hand as each tried to win their masters heart by presenting more and more disgusting ideas. The others drank and applauded when this was expected – and drank some more. Even Voldemort seemed bored in the end. The thick smog of blood, fear and alcohol was caught in the hall's dome and dazed those few who had not been overcome by wine and horror.

Voldemort clapped his hands and the house-elf appeared. "Bring them back to their rooms. Start with him over there." he said and pointed to Lucius Malfoy who had been unconscious for some time, hanging over the arm rest of his chair, his blond white hair stained with red wine and gravy.

Snape was one of the few who were able to get up by themselves. He seemed cool and untouched by the scenes of the past hours. Only the hem of his cloak, stiffened with dried blood indicated that this evening hadn't spared him entirely. Voldemort looked at him with some respect. "What wouldn't I do to know of the desires within you, my friend!" he said with a slight irony. "Always reserved and cool like a Victorian virgin."

"Tired, my Lord," said Snape.

"Tired of other people's excesses?"

"What challenge lies in impressing one's will on these brainless creatures?"

"Go and rest, Severus," Voldemort laughed. "I need all of your well rested mental vigour."

"Good night, my Lord," said Snape and left the hall following the house-elf.

"One more thing, Snape!" Voldemort called after him. "Don't try to find Draco Malfoy. It would be a waste of time. You will only find what I let you find in my palace."

oooOooo

In the morning Snape stumbled upon a nearly tropical looking inner court with a fountain, lush blooming bushes and flowers and garden seats that seemed inviting. The sounds of strange birds filled the air. If the viewer lifted his eyes he could see the cyclopean black walls, past the palm leaves and the flowering vines, reaching to the sky and surrounding this whole place, representing much more the true character of the environment than this small idyllic spot did. While Snape still looked on, the sun reached the upper edge of the wall and instantly let it flare in bright gold.

"The Golden Fortress!" Voldemort's voice sounded enthusiastically. "Isn't it ever so beautiful? The stone contains enclosures of metal. Depending on where the light comes from, it seems golden or black."

He went down the stairs that led to the court. "Good morning, Severus! I somehow hunched that I would find you here." He then stood next to Snape and looked on, as the sun rapidly made more and more of the wall shine. "A beautiful sight! And it will soon be known in the whole country. – Well, you didn't feel like having breakfast? Then let me show you more of your new home."

They went up a steep and narrow stairway that was made of the same stone. It led to a gallery way up on the massive outer wall.

Snape turned to the inner part that was surrounded by this wall. Behind a narrower inner containment he saw roofs, domes and turrets. The area expanded a far way. Everything seemed to be covered by a shimmering fog that made it impossible to estimate the true size of the grounds or to get an idea of the distances. There was one great dome which clearly rose above the bizarre maze and Snape suspected it to contain the banquet hall he had seen the previous evening. Then he spotted the outline of a gigantic tower, barely visible through the mist. Clouds shrouded its peak.

"Now turn around and look outside!" Voldemort told him.

As Snape looked down over the edge of the outer wall he saw the sea waves surge at its base. "Azkaban! This is Azkaban!" he called in complete surprise.

"At last I have achieved to draw an emotion from you! Yes, that used to be Azkaban. Since Dumbledore's death I have been working at it day and night to turn this run down prison into the fortress you now see. I don't believe that the news that Azkaban has fallen got to the outside world long before now."

"Where are the Dementors?"

"Flew out. I allow them to hunt a bit. They were quite hungry. But still we are not without defence. Do you see the deep moats over there?"

Snape had of course noticed the moats between the outer and the inner mural quad. They seemed to contain a blackish green liquid that reminded him of the boggy water in a swamp. On one spot or the other there were big slimy bubbles on the still surface that reflected the empty sky. A revolting smell rose in wafts from the moats. As he looked down again he saw sluggish movement on the surface here and there.

Voldemort saw it, too, and gave a subdued laugh. "You see your master's army down there. Those which you chose to call brainless creatures yesterday evening – they will be our soldiers. They are floating around down there in a dreamless sleep with the mud of the trench veiling their unseeing, wide open eyes. Down there, in the depths of my fortress you will find vaults and chambers in which – ah, those are nocturne dreams of ours that we will fulfil!"

"You are a true poet of horror, my Lord," Snape said after a short while with his lips curled. A moment he thought he might have pushed it too far. But then he again heard Voldemort laugh softly.

"I appreciate your courage, Severus, my prince! You have no idea how boring it is to be surrounded by dimwits. Take Lucius for example – nothing but an empty shell; the old nobility, the superb arrogance – he broke down the first time he himself had to shed blood! Or Bellatrix, oh Bellatrix! The only thing our friend Bellatrix dreams of in the depth of her unsteady heart is to wind her body around mine in sweaty wet ecstasy! How tiring! And how – well, stupid!"

Voldemort turned to Snape and his face showed true perplexity. "I never understood why it is, this impulse that has so much power over people. Doesn't ecstasy give you a foretaste of death? Isn't breeding the same as idolatry to mortality? But they fall victim to this instinct. My own mother – she had every possibility! She could have charmed the mightiest men so that they would submit to her – but she only wanted one, my father. As he didn't want her any more, she gave up on herself. That is stupid, isn't it? You tell me, Snape; what kind of a power is it that has such influence on people?

"You seem to assume that I know the answer."

"Well, foremost I assume that you want to talk yourself out of it again. On another occasion you will have to explain on me. Now there are other matters to be attended. Just one more remark to the Inferi. They may be brainless creatures. But never underestimate the horror they cause! Don't underestimate their appetite! It might be easy for a good wizard to control them – until they scent live meat. Then a truly strong spirit is required to contain them. Snape, I believe you will be a good commander. Come on now!"

He turned away from the wall and hurried down the stairs with his cloak billowing. Snape followed him back inside. Voldemort led him to a small, feminine looking drawing room that allowed a view on the inner court with the fountain and the lushly blooming plants.

"I hope you like my palace. I will receive a number of guests here for a while. Amongst these there will be some who are used to being offered a certain standard of luxury and style. And I want to stop this talk about us being barbarians without taste or a feeling for beauty," Voldemort said while he sat down by a small tee table. A mute house-elf stood there, ready to serve tee in delicate, egg-shell coloured china cups.

"To be honest, I have to admit that this does not apply to a large number of those followers who have recently joined me," Voldemort continued. "Not so few consider eating with knife and fork as kind of art. Well, regretfully those are allies required in a war.

But look at the others, the inner circle, those who were with me since the beginning. They are people who take pride in a pure blooded ancestry meanwhile lasting centuries; who are rich and fastidious and have been surrounded by choice luxury and the most precious things for generations. They whip their house-elves if these iron crinkles into their underwear. The robes that would have them adequately clad for a certain meal are cause for philosophical discussions. But if you look inside their dreams, ah – Severus, a totally different scene awaits you. There they wade through blood and wallow in the dirt. And I, I can give this to them; make their dreams come true, without shame and without regret. On the contrary, I also give them the awareness of acting on behalf of a worthy cause."

Snape drank some tee from his cup.

"The past weeks have not made you more talkative, my friend. While exaltation sometimes sweeps me away! I admit that I am proud of the achievement. This is the place I wanted to create and finally I have the means and the opportunity to do it. I promise you that I will be able to fill you with enthusiasm, too. Let me show you your new laboratory and my library which I have at last placed in worthy surroundings." And walking in the buoyant way that seemed to belong to his renewed personality, he went on and gestured Snape to follow him.

"In any case the tea was excellent," said Snape.

"Finest first cut! Only the tenderest leaf tips. I meanwhile get it straight from Japan."

They went along the corridor to the entrance hall and from there they headed up the broad stairway. From the top of these stairs, two further flights of stairs led in different directions.

Voldemort turned right and said, nodding his head in the opposite direction "There is a – well, we could call it a museum up there. A museum of mortality, yes, I believe that is what it could be called. An exquisite exhibition covering a great part of this topic! Not all of it of course." Voldemort smiled. "It is a topic that can hardly be covered fully because it's extending continuously so to speak and always holds surprises for the eager collector. And speaking of collections, my small collection of very personal treasures is also situated in this wing. I was able to retrieve a few of the exhibits from a secret hiding-place our friend Lucius had, before the Aurors could lay their uncouth hands on them. I will show both collections to you one day. You will appreciate them."

Once they had reached the top, they went along the corridor until Voldemort opened a door with verve, gesturing Snape to enter. Snape found himself in a large room where the walls were covered with shelves and cupboards full of glasses, bottles and containers of all kinds. Gleaming appliances, mock-ups, boards with depictions showing plants, animals and numerous magical objects were arranged neatly on shelves well within reach. And then the content of the bookcase conjured up an expression on his face that came close to awe.

Severus Snape stood there in amazement. Voldemort watched him closely from the corner of his eye. Snape raised one hand and touched the back of a huge folio bound in leather which had grown brittle with age. He hesitantly pulled it out of the shelf with both hands and slowly opened it. "_'De Caligine Mundi',_" he read aloud. "You've really got it!"

"Yes, it is one of only three existing copies of the original written by Salazar Slytherin. Not _'Nightworlds'_, the version Grindelwald made of it, fit for children – pah. Popular nonsense. No, this is the true Slytherin."

"As a boy, I tried everything to get my hands on passages of this book," Snape murmured. "I just wanted to take a look at the text. It was useless."

"Well, now you can take your time studying it. For the benefit of all of us, I hope."

Snape looked up from the pages.

"I continue to expect great things from you, Severus," Voldemort said and Snape didn't miss noticing the threatening undertone.

oooOooo

It had turned dark until Voldemort returned to Snape in his laboratory. Snape was absorbed in reading the old book to such an extent that it presented an effort for him to lift his eyes from the parchment.

"Enough reading, Snape. You shouldn't bury yourself behind books so much! There is more I want to show you. Here, take your cloak, its cold up there."

Snape got up and obediently put on his cloak. "Up on the tower?" was the only thing he asked.

"Correct, my alert student. We should apparate – to be honest, there is no other way up. Unless you prefer the broom."

Snape had some difficulty getting used to his master's good temper. He followed him and an instant later stood on a small platform on top of the tower he had seen that morning. A swaying little lantern shed a dim light, barely sufficient for them to see each other. The wind gave a steady howl up there and now and then wisps of clouds blocked out the view below.

Snape was surprised to see light patterns as in a Muggle town where he had, based on his knowledge, assumed water would be.

"Do you like it?" Voldemort asked as he noticed Snape's astonished face.

"Yes," said Snape and honestly meant it.

"They're sleeping down there, the Muggles, and have no idea that we exist. Maybe they would laugh at our world if somebody told them about us. To them, magic belongs to nurseries and story telling to their descendants. But still they are afraid, are full of fear! Sometimes they don't even know why and then they run to their mind doctors – but the cause is that they have banned magic from their concept of reality." Voldemort laughed. "But I will teach them true fear!" He stood close to Snape and looked over the balustrade of the platform down into the depth.

"Their fear is my power. The more they are afraid, the more I live. You have to find out their greatest fear, my friend. Often they fear something totally different to what they think. They are so closely tied to their ordinary life with its everyday worries and distress. They have no idea what depths could open up under their feet – at any second." Voldemort laughed softly and looked down on the light spotted darkness below him. "They are such – _creatures_! They are born, grow up, they bring forth the next generation, grow old and die. And nobody even dares to question it! They simply submit themselves. They are so deplorable. They deserve nothing but this continuing circle, this continuous dying!"

Snape, standing next to him, shuddered; the strong wind up there chilled him despite the heavy cloak.

After Voldemort had looked down for a while he turned to Snape with unexpected fierceness. "What about _you_, Severus –! I admit I would be thrilled to know your darkest fear. I have been watching you for so long but you never give yourself away. Well then –" he turned to face Snape with his evil smile, "well then, Severus, you tell me. Tell me what rouses you from deepest slumber, what makes you break out in cold sweat, makes you shiver and close your eyes in fear?!"

Snape's face was out of the light. Finally he answered, "Maybe I see an overgrown, forgotten grave. My own grave."

"A good answer. And possibly true even if it is only the fear of your mind. But then – tell me another thing, Severus! What made you step in for the young Malfoy, the way you did?" And with a sudden movement he took Snape's wrist with an iron clasp. The tips of his finger nails cut into the injured skin there. Voldemort smiled but deep in his red eyes a spark of cruelty gleamed.

"Did I do that? Did I step in as his father raised the sword against him?"

"Don't evade me," Voldemort warned in a subdued voice. "Don't dare to think I'm stupid! It was the woman, Narcissa, or not? Tearfully she must have begged for your help. I wouldn't have thought that female tears hold so much power over you –"

"Indeed they don't, my Lord," was Snape's reserved reply. "It was because of the boy. Only a boy – nearly a child still."

"Is that your secret soft spot? Boys?"

Snape smiled a little ironic smile. Voldemort could hear it in his voice when he answered. "No, not that. He was my student. The son of a man I have known for many years. I knew that the task was more than he could cope with. And his attempt was poor enough and his failure nearly endangered the whole mission."

"Yes, I know. But that wasn't what I wanted to know. Why did you bind yourself to this woman by that oath, Snape?"

"To calm her down. To strengthen her trust in me. And I thought you would expect me to intervene in the case of Malfoy's failure."

Voldemort silently looked at him for a while. Then he slowly said, "And again a good reply, Severus. What makes me wonder is that you don't seem to fear your own death. That gives me a lot to think about. A servant who is not afraid of dying is either a very good or a very dangerous servant."

Snape did not answer but he kept up the eye contact.

"On the other hand, I'm not sure if you might not be mistaken. Maybe you are more in fear than you know. Maybe you're not aware of the abysses I can plunge a human mind into." He stretched out a long white index finger and touched Snape's chest. In thought he added, "Or a man's _body_. We shouldn't forget that part."

Then he pulled his cloak around himself in a concluding move and said in a different voice, "Now look here! I want to show you something."

He raised his wand over the city far below them. Snape saw how his lips moved. Then a short cutting move of his wand followed. At first he didn't understand what had happened. Then he realized that everything beneath them was turning dark. All the lights of the city had been extinguished.

Voldemort laughed. "Brilliant, or what would you think? I believe our friends won't really be able to appreciate this deed. But both of us grew up with Muggles and know how attached they are to their power sockets, don't we?" Still laughing, he turned to Snape. "Did you know that they make films about such things? They love imagining various versions of what the end of the world would be like! I will present to them one after the other!"


	6. House Arrest

**Chapter Six:**

**House Arrest**

**_(Translation by Puffskein, annebanane, abraxas, Threecornerjack, Erich and Tima – thank you so much!)_**

Hermione grabbed Harry by his arm. Slowly, people stopped dancing as the music ceased. In the end, only the coloured light beams slid over the shocked crowd, shedding light on terrified, ghost-pale faces everywhere around.

"Azkaban?" Hermione asked in a hushed voice.

From the dissolving circle of dancers they saw Ron steering towards them. And hard on his heels Fabienne with whom he had danced. Harry noticed Hekate Harper nearby, half-obscured by the shadows of the trees under which she stood. She closely observed the happenings around her, apparently being in a totally calm state of mind herself.

Meanwhile, Scrimgeour stepped onto the dance floor and everybody fell silent. "Well, I'm sorry having to confirm that this is true: We have just gained information that Azkaban fell prey to – the enemy," he announced in a loud voice. "And it seems that this already happened at least two weeks ago."

The murmur rose once more, sporadic shouts were heard.

"Why did it take so long for you to come to know of this?"

"What about the Dementors?"

"Why didn't your employees over there tell you earlier?"

"Are the prisoners still alive?"

Scrimgeour motioned for silence. "It seems that all employees – as well as the prisoners – at Azkaban fell victim to Voldemort," he continued in a somewhat muffled voice. "Since yesterday night, we are trying to get near the fortress but it seems to be impossible. Apparently, Voldemort has encased Azkaban with a dissociation spell. It has completely vanished in a thick haze."

Harry looked over the Minister who grounded and threatened him ten minutes ago. He was quite busy at the moment with the people closing in on him, asking him questions. What if he simply cleared out now? If he apparated to someplace and ran away?

He felt Hermione's eyes resting upon him. "Don't, Harry," she said softly. "Don't make things even worse for you!"

"What's he supposed not to do?" Ron asked, visibly discomforted with the way Fabienne leaned on him.

"I asked him not to run away. Scrimgeour just grounded him. In the Headquarters."

"_What_?"

They saw Arthur and Molly approaching them, closely followed by Moody.

"Harry, I am so sorry for you!" Molly called out. Moody and Arthur Weasley looked very stern.

"Have to take you with me right away, Harry. Thought that this evening would end more cheerful, believe me," growled Moody.

"But they just can't lock me away right now!" exclaimed Harry with desperation. "You must understand, I have to leave this place, I have – things to do. Important things." He suddenly realised just how childish that sounded.

"That's the point, Harry. No solos and no lone warrior here anymore. Have to agree to Scrimgeour on that one. There could be too much depending on you."

"We are going with him," decided Hermione. "Apart from that, I will investigate if this is legally allowed. After all, he hasn't done anything wrong!"

"His uncle's house in London has been destroyed the night before yesterday. The magical influence was obvious," said Moody.

"But Harry couldn't possibly have done that! He was – where is Lupin, for Merlin's sake, he should intervene here!" Hermione's voice sounded desperate.

"Here I am," said Lupin, emerging from the surrounding darkness. The coloured light had finally been switched off, leaving the perimeter dimly lit with only a few lanterns. The wedding guests hustled towards the house. Harry heard some crying.

Lupin looked very tired. "There is nothing I can do for you, Harry," he said slowly. "We all know that you are not responsible for that. It is merely a pretext of Scrimgeour's. He is experiencing a lot of public pressure at the moment, and it will even get worse. He just wants to be sure that _the Chosen One_ is under his control."

"Ha! That sounded somewhat different to me when he just dropped the line that many believe me to be a black sorcerer, keen on getting rid of Voldemort for sheer personal interests. And that some would think I swapped sides. But whatsoever, Scrimgeour wants to force me to undergo a Legilimentation," said Harry.

The others stared at him.

"He _can't_, he just can't do that!" said Hermione.

"If need be, he's going to charge me with abetting murder."

"_What_?!"

"Better not to discuss this out here," said Arthur Weasley. "Let's get inside. Things are looking gloomily enough. Maybe it's not the worst of all ideas to accommodate you at Grimmauld Place for a while, you know. At least it's a safe place."

"Fair enough! Then it will surely calm you to know that I will accompany him," said Ron, thus earning a grateful glance from Hermione.

Molly opened her mouth to reply something, but then kept it to herself, looking resigned.

"Harry. Um, how shall I put it –," Arthur started as they entered the house. "The Order is not very happy with your silence, you know. Alastor decided to respect your decision for the time being. But doubts have been uttered."

"What kind of doubts?"

"Well, some people are wondering if it is the right decision, continuing to keep the information Dumbledore gave you to yourself – now that he is dead."

"But he told me not to talk about it. To absolutely no one!" said Harry, instinctively concealing the fact that there actually were two exceptions from that interdiction. He did not want to see his friends being interrogated, too.

"We have accepted that, haven't we, Harry? But now Dumbledore is dead. Did he count on that to happen? And if so, don't you think he might have altered his orders?"

"Well, sadly enough, we will never know, will we?" replied Harry belligerently. All of a sudden, a wave of fury washed over him. What did they want from him? Why weren't they focussing on chasing Snape – _he_ would certainly be able to tell them a lot, not only about Dumbledore.

oooOooo

Outside, the sky was a sullen grey. They had opened wide both doors leading to the balcony, hanging around undetermined in the parlour. Ron lay sprawled on the sofa while Hermione paced along the bookshelves and Harry simply stood around, gazing at the chestnut tree.

He thought about their helter-skelter departure the evening before. Everybody seemed to feel benumbed because of the sudden change of scene. The wedding had subsequently ended quite abruptly and gloomily. Ron, Hermione and he had gathered a few belongings – the best part of Harry's stuff was still at Grimmauld Place anyway – and apparated together with Moody and Lupin in London, supervised by Scrimgeour personally. He could not accompany them to Grimmauld Place directly as the secret of its precise location was lost for good with the death of the Secret Keeper Dumbledore.

"Your apparition license will of course be withheld," Scrimgeour had added in a cold voice. However, he had found no way of objecting to Ron and Hermione accompanying him. It surprised Harry how grateful he felt about their decision to come along with him. His thoughts were all mixed-up and he was sure he would go mad if he had no possibility of speaking to anybody during his arrest.

"I will do everything in my power to get you out of there," Arthur promised on their parting. "And please don't worry too much about that Legilimentation thing. I hardly believe he will get away with that."

Harry averted his eyes from the chestnut tree to look at his friends. "There is no way I will agree to undergo a Legilimentation," he said determinedly. "If they are going to force me to do it, I'll run away."

"What exactly is that supposed to be anyway?" asked Ron, still lying on the sofa.

"An approved Legilimens is searching his brain for things they want to know," explained Hermione.

"I'm sure they are reckoning on that Harper woman. Didn't anyone mention she is a Legilimens?"

"That was Percy. Can't you fob them off with something before they bring up heavy artillery?" asked Hermione.

"That would be useless. It's obvious that they are nosing around for anything related to the Horcruxes. Lupin for example knew that there are Horcruxes involved. And if that Harper woman is teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, she's bound to know, too. I am pretty sure that the members of the Order have been aware for quite some time that Voldemort is using Horcruxes. They have probably started searching for them ages ago."

"But then, Harry – don't you think it would be advisable to talk to them? To tell them everything you know? I mean, they're on _our_ side!" said Hermione. "Better than being trapped in here, don't you think?"

"Snape was a member of the Order, too," said Harry. "And Dumbledore put it quite clear not to tell anybody except you. He had his reasons. The Horcruxes are my task. Just like Voldemort," he added quietly.

Silence fell. For a while each of them was lost in thought about this intricate situation. After all, what could they do – three hardly grown-ups, not even having finished school, against a wizard like Voldemort?

Eventually Hermione stopped pacing the room to and fro and sat down at Harry's desk. In a resolute tone, she announced: "Okay. Now let's approach this methodically. Do you have parchment and quills, by any chance?"

"I think so. You should know better than me."

"That's right. Here we go," she said and flattened the roll with resolute strokes. "Well. Subject-matter is _Horcruxes_. What do we know about them? From whom can we gather more information? How can they be destroyed?"

"You're really bright, Hermione," said Ron. "Can anyone of you explain me once more what exactly they are?"

"A Horcrux is an object containing a piece of a human soul that has been transferred into it by some kind of magic. Thus they protect you from dying: even when being killed, part of one's soul survives and you can be brought back to life – somehow," said Hermione.

"Not a bad idea, is it?"

"Well, if you let aside the fact that you have to kill someone to split your soul," replied Hermione grimly. "You can't have forgotten _that_ bit!"

"No, I haven't. Calm down. I simply enjoy listening to you lecturing, Hermy. Go on."

But it was Harry who continued. "Voldemort wanted to play it absolutely safe. He planned on ripping his soul into seven pieces to gain eternal immortality. One piece remaining in his body plus six Horcruxes. If we succeed in finding and destroying them, the task will be nearly accomplished. The only thing that will then remain to be done is to snuff out the Dark Lord himself."

"Lovely prospects," Ron mumbled, his heart sinking.

"Come on now, let's gather and list everything we know about Voldemort's Horcruxes," said Hermione, pulling out a quill. "The Riddle-diary was his first Horcrux. And it has been destroyed."

"Yeah, but maybe he's created a new one in the meantime. Because he knows that the diary is destroyed," said Harry.

"Okay, let's get on with it. His grandfather's ring – finished off by Dumbledore."

"Exactly, and he said that Voldemort probably doesn't notice if one of his Horcruxes is found and destroyed," Harry contemplated. "So he probably doesn't know about that one. Then this damned locket. Does the right locket still exist, or did R.A.B manage to destroy it?"

Hermione zealously took notes. "Let's talk about R.A.B in a minute. First the Horcrux list."

"Well, Dumbledore reckoned that Voldemort is using special objects for his Horcruxes, if possible, something from the founders of Hogwarts. Slytherin is already represented. Most probably there's a cup from Helga Hufflepuff which he got his hands on together with the locket by murdering that woman, Hepzibah Smith. I told you about that."

"So, that's the ring, the locket, the cup: three objects, one of which is certainly destroyed and maybe another one, too."

"Something from Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, Dumbledore assumed. And he also suspected Nagini, the snake."

"That would be six then, plus the diary, which might have been replaced by one of the other named Horcruxes."

Hermione continued to write the list; then she started stroking her nose contemplatively with the soft end of the quill. "Did Dumbledore have any clue what the objects of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor could be?"

"No. The only thing we know is that it is not Godric's sword." Harry threw himself in the other corner of the couch.

"And where are those things supposed to be?" asked Ron. "I mean, we do need a hint! He could have hidden them virtually anywhere."

Hermione wrote in large letters _Hiding places? _on a new piece of parchment. Silence fell. Then Hermione said, "Let's think about who might know something about Horcruxes in general and about those of Voldemort in special."

"Generally – all Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, don't you think so?" said Ron.

"Voldemort, R.A.B – whoever that might be, and maybe Snape," added Harry.

"Why do you think Snape knows something about them?"

"He healed Dumbledore; at least he fixed up the worst after Dumbledore got hold of the Marvolo ring."

Hermione looked up in bewilderment. "Snape?"

"Yeah. The ring must have been protected by some kind of jinxes. You do remember how Dumbledore's hand looked so... so dead, don't you? That's how it happened. And he told me that Snape saved his life – in a manner of speaking."

"Why?" asked Ron.

"Probably, because he still needed him at that time," replied Harry in a cold voice. "And don't forget, he's always been a real star of the Dark Arts. I am convinced that he knows something about it. Apart from that, he used to be – _is_ a Death Eater."

"Okay, but we can hardly walk up to him to ask him, can we?"

But Harry wasn't listening. He recalled something – a sentence, spoken years ago, lingered at the edge of his awareness, and he tried to keep still in order not to loose that notion. Then he remembered. "Listen, I just remembered something! That day, in the graveyard, I mean, when Voldemort – returned to life. He said something about the Death Eaters that could be of importance. It was something like that they knew the steps he had taken to protect himself against mortal death."

"And you believe that he talked about the Horcruxes? That the Death Eaters knew about them?" asked Hermione tensely.

"What else could he have meant by that?"

"That's very important. If the Death Eaters were in the know, there might be a way to gain access to that information. Either directly from them or their relatives."

"Or through their house-elves!" said Ron.

"Dobby! That's it! He has spent so many years with the Malfoys!" exclaimed Harry. "And then there's Kreacher – I mean, Sirius' brother, he was a Death Eater, too."

"Well, but only for a very short time. What do you think they might have picked up on that issue?"

Harry gazed into the air, thinking hard. "I imagine that there is kind of a ritual, you know, something like that scene in the graveyard. A ritual for creating a Horcrux. Perhaps he needs witnesses or something. He might have taken the Death Eaters as witnesses."

"That's a good idea!" She wrote _Horcrux ritual in front of witnesses?_ on her roll of parchment.

"Then Snape was bound to know about it," concluded Harry.

"Unless Voldemort created the Horcruxes much earlier," objected Hermione. "I mean, how long can Snape have been one of them at that time? He can't have been much older than twenty years, when Voldemort – well, you know what."

"How come you know how old Snape is?" asked Ron in astonishment. "No, don't tell me! Old issues of the _Prophet_! You said something about a birth notice, didn't you?"

"So you had been listening, for a change? Very encouraging."

"We don't know how much Snape has been involved in Death Eater matters throughout the past years," Harry argued. "He might have been present when Voldemort replaced the Riddle diary by a new Horcrux!"

"At any rate, we can't ask him."

"What about Dumbledore?" chipped Ron in. Feeling the looks of the others resting upon him, he hastily added, "Well, no, I know he's dead. But what about his portrait in his office? You told us often enough that the portraits up there talk and interfere a lot."

"That's perhaps not the stupidest of ideas!" Harry thought aloud.

"Well, thanks a lot!"

"If he – um – has woken up in the meantime. Last time I saw him in the portrait, he was asleep, you know."

"Anyway, we have to find out who R.A.B is," said Hermione resolutely. "He has to be an ally, and quite a clever one, too."

"Yeah, and quite a dead one, too. Did you forget what he wrote in that letter?" said Ron.

For a second, Hermione looked a bit sheepish, but then she recovered. "Nevertheless we have to find out who he was. Or _she_," she insisted. "At least in order to know if the real Horcrux still exists." And with new enthusiasm, she wrote _Who is R.A.B?_ and _Locket destroyed?_ on her parchment. Then she looked up. "This makes hungry. Let's get something to eat."

"I have already been to the kitchen," replied Ron dolefully. "Nothing but tinned baked beans and old toast down there."

Hermione grimaced. "Perhaps we should go shopping."

"I'd rather say, this house lacks a proper house-elf," said Ron defiantly.

"Sure, that's why you have so many of them at home, eh?" snapped Hermione back. "Move your bum and buy some cookies and apples or something!"

"Chocolate," said Harry.

"Go get it yourself. I don't even have Muggle money on me. And I couldn't go shopping with it, either."

"Okay, but let's finish this first."

Harry burst with laughter. At this very moment, he felt happier than ever since Dumbledore had died. He was locked up, but his friends were with him. It was not only that he could talk to them about everything but they also brought him back down to earth if he needed it. Maybe the other two had the same feelings; anyway, they started laughing, too.

"We discussed the questions _What do we know about Horcruxes?_ and _From whom can we gather information about them?_ What's still missing is _How can they be destroyed?_ and _Where are they hidden?_"

"I have no idea and I have no idea," said Harry after a while. "But there is certainly something written in some book on how to destroy a Horcrux. We could ask Slughorn, but he will certainly hedge around if we touch on that subject."

"We will ask him anyway. He's got something to make up, hasn't he? After all, he told Riddle quite a lot about them."

"But you already managed to destroy one, Harry," said Ron.

"That's right. However, the Marvolo ring was additionally jinxed. Dumbledore got away merely by the skin of his teeth. We should act on the assumption that it is not at all easy to destroy a Horcrux."

"Then there remains _Where to look for them?_"

"To answer that question, we need to know more about Voldemort himself. The places he used to live. Things that were important to him. Stuff like that. Dumbledore has spent years on end investigating him. Now, all his knowledge is lost."

"Amongst Muggles, Voldemort would be known as a serial killer. The police would compile a psychological perpetrator profile," mused Hermione.

"A _what_?" Ron was at a complete loss.

Just like Hermione, however, Harry had spent his summer holidays in the Muggle world, often trying to kill time in front of the television (provided the Dursleys were in a good mood). He knew what Hermione was aiming at.

"It means that we'll have to gather everything we know about him, about his personality," Hermione continued excitedly. "That way, we'll be able to find out about his soft spots or his – obsessions. Perhaps, we'll be able to find a way to fight him."

"Dumbledore said something similar," contemplated Harry. "I think that's why he showed me all this stuff from Voldemort's past in the Pensieve."

"That's it!"

"But, you're missing one point."

"So?"

"Voldemort is a wizard. The greatest black sorcerer that has ever lived, if you want to believe the rumours afloat. Even the FBI profilers would have their difficulties with him."

"Could anybody please be so kind to explain –"

"Nevertheless, he is partly human, isn't he? With vulnerabilities we can find out about. That prophecy, for example, it said that there is _one_ power he does not possess –"

"Please. Don't take up on that love thing again! Honestly, I can't take it anymore! It's just – embarrassing!"

"Oh yeah, man, I'm just glad nobody said anything like that about me in a prophecy or whatever."

"Yes, Ron. Don't worry; nobody will mistake you for a Cupid. Can we please discuss this seriously now?"

Sitting behind the large desk with the parchment in front of her, quill ready at hand, looking sternly at both of them, Hermione suddenly gave Harry a very good impression on how she might be sitting one day at – say, McGonagall's desk at Hogwarts.

"I can think of two things. First: He's a collector. He's collecting objects related to his murders or other deeds. And most important: His biggest fear is to die," said Hermione. "One could say that he has spent all his life trying to find a way to become immortal."

"To me, he seemed somewhat – vain," said Harry slowly, trying to recall the details of the Pensieve scenes, where he had seen Tom Riddle aka Voldemort. "He was cocksure to be smarter than the rest. He despised everybody, even his followers. Perhaps them even more. He enjoyed manipulating others. And he was utterly unscrupulous. He didn't give a damn about anybody but himself."

"Do you reckon he ever loved anybody?"

"And do you reckon anybody ever loved him?" asked Harry.

The picture of Merope Gaunt, Voldemort's mother, crossed his mind. This defeated creature that had known only one love in her life. For her son, she had nothing but a name, not even the strength to live on. And all of a sudden, he saw this picture of his mother again, how she shielded him from Voldemort with her own body, until she died. He swallowed hard.

"Well, we don't know very much. We need to work on this. We will have to interview Slughorn, for example."

Hermione continued writing. Harry got up and looked over Hermione's shoulder onto the parchment. "Great!" he said. "Dead useful. But we must find a place to hide it."

"No problem," replied Hermione and reached for her wand. "_Rana_!"

And with a gentle plopping noise, the parchment transformed into a crystal frog. She put it on the blank spare parchment rolls; the frog seeming to be nothing but an unobtrusive, nice paper weight. She pretended not to notice the admiring looks from Ron and Harry, but her wide smile contradicted her. "And now, Ron, we'll go shopping," she said.

oooOooo

After the second day of Harry's house arrest they began to be really bored. Now at last, Harry had given them a detailed report about what had happened in Godric's Hollow and they vehemently discussed the puzzling points without reaching satisfactory conclusions. Again and again they had gone through their theories about Horcruxes but couldn't make any progress without further information. They read through some of the books of the Blacks' library without finding anything helpful.

On the third day Lupin brought surprising news that they could read in the _Daily Prophet_ a little later, too: The Ministry had decided to let school start two weeks earlier because of the tense situation. Instead of September 1st, the Hogwarts Express should leave August 15th this year. The School was regarded one of the safest places in the whole country.

Harry began to dream about Horcruxes once more and didn't sleep very well. The morning of day four he was at the end of his tether, so he walked restlessly around the flat and not even ate. Hermione watched him for a while and then said as if announcing a sudden inspiration, "Occlumency!"

"What do you mean by that?" asked Harry angrily. He even disliked the word.

"Hasn't even Lupin said you still have to learn Occlumency? And Dumbledore?"

"That won't help me against that Legilimentation" said Harry grumpily, "even if I could learn Occlumency easily right now – which I can't, by the way!"

"Why not?"

"Before the Legilimentation they let you swallow a potion that makes it impossible for you to hide your thoughts," answered Harry gloomily, "I've looked it up."

"Anyway. Everybody has told you that you definitely must be able to use Occlumency techniques when facing Voldemort."

"Forget it. I just can't do it." He shuddered only on thinking of the futile lessons with Snape two years ago.

"Wait a moment! Only because Snape couldn't teach you, that doesn't mean it's impossible. It is quite possible that he actually didn't want to give you proper lessons."

"I think that's most definitely the way it was."

"Well then. I believe I've seen one or two books about it here yesterday." Hermione hurried to a bookshelf. She took to it like a duck to water. "And it might help you right now, with your impatience, I mean. – Oh, look: _Silence of the Thoughts. Basic Principles of Occlumency_ by Julia Tranquill. And here: _Substitutional Imagination. Methods in Occlumency_, also by Tranquill."

"Pardon?"

Hermione took the two rather thin booklets along and sat down on the sofa. As she started reading _Basic Principles_, Harry took the other one to have a closer look at _Methods_. Contrary to his expectation, it turned out to be quite interesting. It was completely different to what Snape had done. He had only given Harry curt orders to protect his thoughts and free himself of his emotions. Harry more and more felt his suspicion justified that Snape hadn't really wanted to teach him anything at all.

The Tranquill Books, though, described methods and a number of exercises and Hermione managed to force Harry and even Ron to Occlumency lessons every day. In her opinion, it could only be useful to all three of them to protect their thoughts. Apart from everything else, Harry and Ron found that it helped ease the boredom and obediently sat on the carpet in front of the fire, the place Hermione had thought most suitable for their practice.

"Do you think it possible to learn Legilimency? Or is a kind of talent needed?" Harry let the others join in on his thoughts one afternoon.

"You mean something like a gift for telepathy or so?"

"Watch out, don't get that confused!" Harry said wryly. "When I had lessons with Snape, he took pains to explain that only a crude nincompoop like me could think that the high art of Legilimency had anything to do with silly mind reading. But to be honest, in the end I still didn't get the difference."

"Going by what I have read so far," Hermione said in her usual manner, "there really _is_ a difference. A Legilimens deliberately enters another person's mind but he can't read the thoughts, hear the words, so to speak. He sees pictures and the chaos we usually have in our brain and he has to look for what he wants to know and decode it, transfer it from the pictures the other person uses and make sense of it. I mean, we've got a lot more pictures than words and sentences in our head."

Tranquill's comments seemed to support Hermione's idea; especially the technique of "Substitutional Imagination" was based on the conviction that the mind used pictures. If a thought was to be hidden, one should replace it by a different picture, a different idea and then concentrate on this completely. It could prove useful to have some kind of connection between the original thought and the picture replacing it. Of course the connection should not be too close or obvious, though.

"Basically it's nothing different to learning vocabulary," Hermione said. "Vocabulary of your own language, a language only you understand."

To Harry this idea seemed quite useful but he, as well as Ron, had some difficulties to with the technique of the "empty mind" at first. Whenever he wanted to sit down and grow calm, surrender all thoughts and emotions as was required, his thoughts started clambering through his head even more uncontrollably.

"Julia writes that that's quite normal for beginners," Hermione comforted them although she wasn't any better off.

The following day Ron managed to fall asleep during the exercise.

"At least he seems to really be able to relax," said Harry. He himself was not that successful.

"I simply can't do it," he complained. "Besides, what the heck, it's not realistic if we don't have a real Legilimens to practice with."

"It is possible to learn Occlumency," said Hermione. "Everybody agrees on that."

"I think that's just a whole lot of crap." He let himself drop on the carpet and stared at the ceiling in discontent. "We're practicing something like meditation here. But I'll tell you one thing, if Snape looks at you with his evil eyes, nothing helps; and he can read whatever he wants inside your head."

Ron snored.

"Don't think about Snape."

"I'm wondering where he might be right now. And Malfoy."

"Forget about them. It'll only distract you. Harry, I believe you simply _have_ to learn this." Hermione looked at him with true concern. "This is not a game," she said softly. "I'm sure you would be able to do it."

"It doesn't have much to do with magic."

"Regard it as the next level in magic. A level where it doesn't depend so much on spells that are correctly learned and well rehearsed but more on – _you_. Try to see yourself as someone who can catch or gather magic power and concentrate it."

"Did you get that from Tranquill?"

"No, it's what I imagine before I apparate."

Against his intention, Harry was impressed. Hermione's words seem to outline something that he had had a vague feeling of, on some occasions, mainly when he used the Patronus Charm. "And how can you concentrate so hard?"

"Think of some little object and then try to imagine it in every detail. That works for me, most of the time."

Harry fixed his attention on a certain object and blocked out every single other picture that wanted to flutter through his mind. His mother's little amulet occurred to him and he tried to picture it, every grain of the greenish wood, the bizarre jags on the side where it broke off. It had an amazing effect. He decided to always create this picture in his head whenever he wanted to protect his mind.

"Hey, Ron could you stop snoring and continue with the exercise?" asked Hermione finally.

"You're only nagging because you can't do it," answered Ron, yawned and stretched out his arms and legs.

oooOooo

Harry woke up abruptly. It was still completely dark; everything was calm in the house. What had woken him up? Then he knew it again. The packet. Dumbledore's packet which Aunt Petunia had given him on his birthday. The packet with the inscription: '_For Harry, on his seventeenth birthday, not earlier and not later'_. How could he possibly have forgotten it? He jumped up and searched for his trunk in the wardrobe.

"_Lumos_!" It was easier with a little light. There it was. He heaved the old trunk from the top shelf and let it crash to the floor. A dreadful fright had hit Harry. What if the package had gone? Hastily he released the lock of that old trunk. Empty. No, stop, there was something. In the hindmost corner lay an old – and, as he worried, rather musty – Quidditch cloak. With trembling hands he pulled it out. And there it was. Dumbledore's packet fell safely out of the pack of clothes.

"Merlin's beard!" he moaned relieved. "What a mug I am!"

Then he weighed the small thing once again in his hand. It made a soft whooshing sound, as if something small was slipping around in it. Finally he opened the box. Therein lay – a little, neat squiggly, golden key. Nothing else. No letter, no note. Harry peered at the tiny key in his hand and felt as though someone was pulling his leg. Should it be a joke? A tiny key – in a world full of locks! Where should he find the right one that this key could open?

But Dumbledore must have aimed something with it. He had wanted Harry to get this key when he comes of age. He had wanted Harry to get known something but maybe he hadn't dared to add a note. What if the note had gotten in the wrong hands? He must have expected that Harry knew what to do with this key.

Harry sighed. For a while he went over all small locks he remembered. A cabinet in Dumbledore's office? A secret door? Who knows, maybe even something in the house in Godric's Hollow? He tried to remember everything that he had seen there. Certainly there had been cabinets. Some locked object, a box or something similar had not attracted his attention.

He sighed again and examined the key very closely once more. He suddenly realized that something about this key looked familiar to him. Only a little more thinking …

The door was thrown open. Ron and Hermione stood at the threshold, in their pyjamas and with scared faces.

"What are you doing here, in the middle of the night?"

"You scared us to death with your rumbling!" they both shouted at the same time.

Damn. The memory had gone. Harry was peeved. "I can get up once in a while, can't I?"

"It's three o'clock in the morning!" said Hermione reproachfully.

"Haven't you ever needed to go to the toilette in the night?"

"Are you going to say, you did – in the _cabinet_ –" started Ron.

"Now it's enough! I woke up, because I recalled something. While sleeping, yes!"

"And what's it up with the cabinet? It sounded as if you'd overturned it."

"I got my suitcase from the top shelf, it slipped out of my hand."

Ron dropped himself on Harry's bed and yawned. At last Hermione's eyes spotted what Harry held in his hand. "What's that?"

"What does it look like?" replied Harry grouchily. "Well, my Aunt gave me this packet on my birthday. She got it from Dumbledore, he gave it to her ages ago and she was to keep it for me."

"_'For Harry, on his seventeenth birthday, not earlier and not later'_," read Hermione out loud. "And why did you stand up for that in the middle of the night and –"

"Okay, I had – simply _forgotten_ it! Got it? The last days had been so busy – I just didn't think of it any more."

"No wonder," mumbled Ron, who had nearly fallen asleep again.

"And what had been in it? The key?"

"Yes. And nothing else. Not a word."

"And what is it for?"

"If I knew, I'd feel better, Hermione!" shouted Harry. "At the moment I had a feeling that it reminded me of something, you came trampling in and everything was gone!"

Because of Harry's loud voice Ron woke up again. "Let's have a look, maybe we can figure it out," he said, being assuasive.

"Sure!" snorted Harry, but he handed the key to Ron.

Ron examined it und yawned again. "Yes, no problem," he said. "That's a key from a Gringotts vault. You know!"

Harry stared at him. While Ron sank back, yawned and apparently fell asleep again immediately, Harry and Hermione looked at each other and started to laugh.

"Our Won-Won!" giggled Hermione at last. "He can do it blindfolded!"

"Oh well, you know that better than I do," said Harry grinning and got a hard slap on the ribs immediately. "Now I know why it looked so familiar to me. I got one of my own from Gringotts. Though your Dad's got it presently, I believe," he added turning to Ron.

"What could be in the vault to which it belongs to?" mused Hermione in curiosity.

"Certainly something from my parents. Something they kept for me."

"But they already had a vault with money."

"Maybe they took an extra one. So I couldn't see it before I came of age. Or Dumbledore did it. Or it is just a second key for the same vault? No, that would be nonsense."

"We have to go to Diagon Alley straight away tomorrow morning," announced Hermione.

"Forget it!" was Harry's merely bleak reply.

"Oh boy, yes. I really just forgot. You can't go out. We'll go for you, how do you feel about that?"

"Do you think the goblins will let you in there? Didn't Bill say something about the safety regulations at Gringotts being so strict at the moment?"

"You can authorise us."

"This confounded house arrest! Hopefully Ron's Dad or Lupin will come up with an idea soon so I can get out of here again. Otherwise I'll go crazy!"

"First we should go and get some sleep now."

They both looked at Ron, who lay snug and warm in Harry's bed and slept as peacefully as a baby.

"I'll leave him there," said Harry. "For these few hours his bed'll do."

oooOooo

When they came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, they found Moody and Lupin sitting in the kitchen. The two watched them with worried looks on their faces.

"Good to see you!"

"What's the matter?"

"The Dementors attacked again. At least fourty people in a small town near Cambridge, mostly Muggles. It's too much for the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Memory charms isn't enough any longer. It's been in all the News, only that the Muggles have no idea what really happened."

"I have to get out of here!" mumbled Harry desperately. "Why do they keep me here? I have to –"

"Yes, Harry, what do you have to?" asked Moody, watching him carefully. His magic eye literally pierced into Harry's eyes. "Is there anything you can stop the Dementors with? Anything we should know, maybe?"

Harry simply looked at him and felt despair wanting to overflow him. Moody wanted to pick his brain, too. And honestly he couldn't blame him or the Order for trying it. After all they were as helpless as he himself – and they supposed him to know some secret that might help them.

"Anything else?" asked Ron finally. "Have you got in touch with my father?"

Both shook their heads.

"Ron and I have to go to Diagon Alley today," said Hermione casually, "we have to buy schoolbooks and such things."

Moody and Lupin once more glanced at each other.

"I think that'll be okay," said Lupin finally.

"But you understand that you only visit Diagon Alley? No detours, no short trips to, let's say, Knockturn Alley or so!" said Moody grimly.

"Only Diagon Alley. Things for school, and Gringotts, of course," said Hermione.

"That'll be fun for you," Lupin sighed cheerlessly. "It'll take you hours till the goblins will have finished all the security checks."

"Well, that's what you prefer nowadays, don't you?" Harry said a bit sniffy. He felt like jumping out of his skin, being impatient and angry of sitting around with no way out.

When Ron and Hermione had finally gone with the key, with Harry watching them jealously, the day began to stretch endlessly. Harry decided to keep himself busy with exercising Occlumency. Meanwhile that didn't seem to be so difficult any more, and not so useless either. He began to realize an unknown calmness inside when he succeeded in "emptying" his mind as Hermione used to say. It felt so good to be released from the dragging impatience for a while.

Evening finally arrived – Lupin, who kept watch in the house that day, had become more and more worried – until Ron and Hermione returned loaded, sweaty and starving.

Harry was more than happy to hear Mrs Black starting to sing down in the hall and ran downstairs. Lupin appeared from the kitchen, too.

"At last! We thought you might have broken away to some place!"

"Nonsense. But it was very busy. School is going to start next week, and it seems as if almost everybody has decided to return. Students everywhere. We hardly escaped Lavender," said Hermione with a quick glimpse towards Ron.

"Err, yes, and we've met Luna, too," he hurried to say. "She told us to say hello to you."

"And – what else?" urged Harry.

Hermione gave him a warning look. Lupin was still standing with them. "Couldn't we have a strong cup of tea first?"

"Yes, and something to eat?" added Ron.

"How about having supper? I could try to get something ready and we could later meet upstairs in the drawing room, okay?" suggested Harry.

"First of all we're going to bring this stuff up there," they shouted from halfway up the stairs.

Harry tried hard to curb his impatience and to fix a few sandwiches. They had too much fat but that was also down to the provisions in the kitchen. The tea turned out to be quite good. He also took some milk and sugar, dispatching the heavy tray upstairs.

"Nice evening, anyway," said Lupin, who was sitting at the kitchen table, absorbed in a book.

In the drawing room, Ron and Hermione had meanwhile made themselves comfortable in the armchairs by the fireplace, a muddled stack of study books, cloaks and ingredients for potions lying around them on the carpet. Harry noticed some particularly porky maggots, which had escaped the badly sealed jar, squirming on the ground.

"Yuck! Ron, they're yours certainly, aren't they? Pick them up and put them away," said Hermione, looking in the same direction Harry had.

"Leave the silly maggots alone! You should better tell me at last what you found out!"

Ron and Hermione swapped a glance.

"Nothing? You didn't even manage to enter, right?" asked Harry, feeling his courage falling. "Or maybe it wasn't a Gringotts key after all!"

"Man, shut your trap and let us tell you!" said Ron.

"It was of course one of their keys. And even though it took ages, they finally let us in. No idea what it was that convinced them at last. Anyway, we had to dash through the galleries with that barrow for aeons."

"And – come on, what did you finally find in the vault?"

"It wasn't a vault. Just a small locker in an enormous wall full of such lockers."

"The goblin did something with the key and, anyway, after that there was a small number or something on it, so that he knew to which locker the key belonged."

"I was already scared that we should know to which box it belongs. Or would have to try them all."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Please! WONT'T YOU TELL ME NOW? WHAT WAS IN IT??"

"This!" Hermione gave him an old looking little wooden box; the lid had an inlay of mother-of-pearl and green stones. Harry took the tiny thing and looked perplexed.

"Is that all there was? What's inside?"

"Oh, honestly! Did you think we looked inside?"

"Go on, open it. After all this fuss, we really want to know what's inside," said Hermione. "Or – perhaps you would prefer to be on your own?" she added, suddenly noticing her lack of tact.

"No. Stay here." And he opened the box. On black velvet was a pair of ear-pendants made of filigree silver and Harry recognized them immediately. "They belonged to my mother! I saw them on two photos – and in this scene from her wedding that I saw in Godric's Hollow!"

The three of them bent over the box and looked at the ear-pendants. They felt a little disappointed.

"Do you think this was only about some family jewellery?"

But Harry was absorbed in the appearance. He hadn't been able to look at the ear-pendants as closely as this before. The pendants were made of very fine silver threads pulled together at intervals by dark shimmering black-green stone pearls. Together these formed a snake-like creation – and right enough, he saw the tiny, skilfully worked snake heads that gathered all the threads together at the lower end, the minute glittering gem eyes. Then he spotted the tenuous web of silver threads at the sides of the snake's body, _wings_ as he then saw, folded like little fans. It wasn't a snake, it was a –

"It's a tiny dragon!" Hermione called in surprise.

And the moment she said this, Harry knew where he had seen this dragon before. And believed that he understood, within a fraction of a second. The realization hit his mind like a flash of lightning. He jumped up. "No!" he said in a toneless voice.

"What's up?"

"I – can't tell you now. I have to talk to somebody first!"

He raced away with the little box.

"Hey, Harry! That's really mean of you! What's wrong with those things?"

"Where do you want to go? It's late and apart from that, you can't leave this place!"

Harry put his coat on, moving hurriedly. "I'll be back in a few hours!"

"Hold on now Harry! You can't do that! Tell us what's up! To whom do you want to talk just now?"

"To Aunt Petunia," he replied to their surprise.

"But – but you don't even know where they _are_ presently!"

This made Harry pause for a short moment. Then he said, "I will try it at Aunt Marge's place. They will probably have found shelter there."

"No, now _stop_, will you," said Hermione in a decisive voice. "You _can't_ leave, Harry. If you do, Scrimgeour will have you locked up, you can be sure of that. Sleep it over."

Harry let his arms sink. They were right. But now he was shaking all over. That simply couldn't be true. All of it had to be connected in a different way. But still – it made sense. Suddenly many things made sense with the new background. But it was impossible for him to tell Ron and Hermione about his new suspicion. He felt terribly exhausted and somehow miserable.

"Let's have tea together," said Hermione quietly and dragged him to an armchair. "We won't urge you any longer. You don't have to tell us anything. But, whatever you do, don't get into any mischief you might regret later."

Harry dropped himself into the armchair and felt vaguely thankful towards Hermione.

oooOooo

During breakfast the next morning all three of them were unusually silent. Harry was still brooding about his mother's earrings. Hermione seemed to be pondering, too. Ron was reading the _Prophet_ and drinking his coffee.

"Well, yesterday –," Hermione finally started, but she was interrupted by the slamming of the front door and steps hastening upstairs. Lupin came in, closely followed by Arthur Weasley, who was waving a document in his hand.

"Harry, that's it! The Wizengamot has forbidden the Legilimentation for now!" Mr. Weasley came to a halt breathlessly at their breakfast table. "And the house arrest is cancelled, also. Scrimgeour had to give in, because the others didn't believe he could seriously charge you with accessory to murder."

The three cheered. It had only been ten days, but that had been enough.

"But you have to agree to a condition," said Lupin. "You have to go back to Hogwarts and finish school."

Harry's smile faded. He wondered when they finally would let him cut his own path.

"Come on, pal! We will be glad to have you there with us!"

'And you've got things to do there, too' said Hermione's glance.

"You must sign here that you will take the Hogwarts Express on the fifteenth of August – that's the day after tomorrow."

"Otherwise?"

"Otherwise you're still under house arrest. And you don't quite endear yourself to Scrimgeour."

"As if I wanted to," grumbled Harry.

But so what? As it had turned out during the discussions of the last days, there was a lot do in Hogwarts, too. Why not start there? But he definitely wasn't going to stay there and finish the school year. To his own surprise he still yearned for school. Even after Dumbledore's death it still represented the world he felt at home in. He suddenly noticed he wanted to return, to breathe the rough, fresh air, to fly over the lake, to feel like a student whom impended nothing worse than a final exam.

He took the feather and signed.

"Very well, Harry. So you are free now!" beamed Arthur Weasley.

oooOooo

Harry had placed his feet on the desk and was pondering, turning one of the ear-pendants in his hand. Petunia's photo album was lying in front of him on the desk. Hermione sat across from him with the notes she had made about the Horcruxes and a stack of books from Harry's inherited library.

After a long while Harry swung his feet off the table with an ultimate move. "Could you draw off Lupin's attention somehow today?" he asked.

"You're lucky. He just went away. It's Hestia's turn today," said Hermione sourly.

"I've got to go today. With a little luck it won't take long."

"All right. You go and visit Aunt Marge, won't you?"

"You don't seem to like that?"

"I think it's not fair to hide it from Lupin," she said frankly. "He trusts you. Somehow he even acts as a guarantor of you."

"I have to do it by myself. It's really important, Hermione!" When she turned over a page in her book in silence, Harry felt a good amount of his anger and impatience returning. "Listen, they've grounded me here. Now they force me to return to school. I'm fed up. I don't want to go on by fair means any longer. I can't get ahead that way. And one more thing: I'm an adult and free. I can go wherever I want to."

Hermione looked at him with surprise. "Actually you're right," she said. And then she continued, sighing as if she had brought herself to a decision, "The dragon – it's the Peverell coat of arms, isn't it?"

Harry was so puzzled that he stopped in the door. "How do you know that? Where have you got that from?"

"Oh, there are lots of books here, also special ones about coats of arms and genealogies and stuff like that. I couldn't find the book I was originally looking for, although I know for sure that Sirius had it. The one we flattened the weird spider-like instrument with, remember?"

"I remember the spider, but not the book – my goodness, Hermione, what is your brain made of that you know such things?"

"It was _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_," Hermione said, self-satisfied, "but now it's gone. Well, Kreacher, I suppose. The Peverell coat of arms wasn't so hard to find, anyway. They must have been a very important family in former times. There was almost nothing about them in the books that I've checked; they mainly contained details to the coats of arms. But I'll keep looking."

Harry thought of the object on which he had seen the dragon for the first time: It had been the ring of Marvolo Gaunt – the ring that later turned out to be one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Harry could still feel the shock he had gotten when he found the same dragon on his mother's ear-pendants. Even the black stones seemed to be of the same kind as the large stone of Marvolo's ring in which the dragon had been engraved – at least until it burst due to the magic Dumbledore had used to destroy the Horcrux.

"Charlotte Peverell – that was her name, wasn't it? We found her on the tapestry here, you know?" said Harry. "Voldemort's great-grandmother. I just couldn't remember what the name Peverell reminded me of. I heard it in the Pensieve scene I told you about. When Marvolo Gaunt showed his ring to the employee of the Ministry, Ogden. He boasted with the Peverell coat of arms, so as if everybody had to know who they were."

He had got up and was now standing in front of the tapestry. "Right, here it is: Charlotte Peverell. Wife of Alexander Gaunt, mother of Jeremy and Lawrence. Grandmother of Marvolo and Pandora Gaunt."

Lost in thought, he went back to the desk and sat down again. "The Peverells must somehow be connected to Slytherin. Why would Marvolo Gaunt have put such an emphasis on that emblem at the time, anyway? I mean, that had just been his point: to explain his Slytherin ancestry."

"But perhaps he only wanted to underline his pure blood line of descent with the Peverell emblem and not his Slytherin heritage in particular," Hermione considered. "He said the ring had been in his family for hundreds of years, didn't he? So the Peverells are a very old family in any case."

"Therefore I'm thinking that the connection to Slytherin is on this side, do you understand? I remember Dumbledore saying that the Gaunts were a very old family – but not that ancient?"

Hermione stroked over her book, thinking. "I wonder where your mother got these earrings from. And if she knew what they meant."

"At first I thought they would be a family heirloom. Because she already wore them as a young girl, at Aunt Petunia's wedding. She was only sixteen at the time. And then at her own wedding. I think they even were the only jewellery she wore there."

"But how should a Muggle family have been able to get these things?"

"I was also wondering about that. And that's why I have to talk to Aunt Petunia."

"Could someone have given them to her as a present? I mean, someone not from the family?"

Harry remained silent and glowered at the earrings lying so harmlessly on his desk. "I saw how Voldemort killed my parents at Godric's Hollow," he finally said.

"Yes. You've told that."

"But not everything. It was horrible. But somehow I already knew that it would be. The greatest shock was the way Voldemort welcomed my mother – like an old acquaintance."

"Haven't they met three times before? That's what the prophecy said, isn't it?"

"Yes, but somehow I thought of militant encounters. '..._who had defied the Dark Lord three times'_ – it said. But he talked to her in a different way, more like ... And he said to her that she always made the wrong decision."

"Do you think _he_ gave them to her?" Hermione asked consternated.

Harry remained silent again. His suspicion seemed even worse to him. He simply couldn't say it.

Hermione also looked as though she was struggling with a thought. "Do you think they could – be a Horcrux?" She was nearly whispering.

Harry hadn't even thought about that. "Dumbledore would surely have known that. I mean he must have known what he left me that key for."

"But he also didn't know that the medallion was the wrong one," Hermione reminded him needlessly.

"I have to talk to my aunt. And now I'm no longer placed under house arrest. I'll go and visit her today. I hope they are really at Aunt Marge's house!"

Harry got up and closed the lid of the jewel case.

"Let us come with you," said Hermione.

But Harry shook his head. "I want to clarify that on my own."

He couldn't tell her that he was afraid of what he might possibly find out. And that he didn't even want to have his best friends as confidants.


	7. Petunia in the Garden

**Chapter Seven:**

**Petunia in the Garden**

**(Translated by annebanane)**

"What are you planning?" Without being noticed Ron had entered the drawing room.

"Hey, where have you been?" asked Hermione.

"I accompanied dad to the underground station. He wanted to treat himself to a trip with a Muggle carriage once more but didn't know how to get there. It's where we arrived last time, remember?" Ron came over to the desk. "Honestly, I'm looking forward to school. This summer vacation could have been better. First the never ending hassle with Phlegm, and then more or less having been grounded here. Not mentioning all the rest."

"I can't imagine Hogwarts without Dumbledore," said Hermione sadly. "Everything will be different somehow."

"And it's our last year," said Ron. "What are you doing, Hermione? Some homework, just in case or what?"

"No, I've only been looking up something. The dragon on the ear-pendants of Harry's mother."

"A Nordic Zingwing, right?"

"Ron!" shouted Hermione amazed. "That's killing me! How do you know that? It took me at least an hour to find it in this dragon book!"

"Well, you should have asked me first. Coincidentally my brother is a dragon expert. I started doing all the dragon puzzles he brought along when I was only three. We must have more than twenty at home." He sat down on the only unoccupied corner of the desk and looked at the other two. Finally he sighed and said: "It's not funny how flabbergasted you are when I chip in something. But I admit I felt rather useless during the last days. I mean, Occlumency and stuff like that isn't down my alley."

Hermione was staring at her parchment and drawing a few very neat 'O's on the border.

"Don't talk nonsense, Ron!" said Harry. "Do you really think that I am fond of that stuff? But Hermione is right, I got to learn it. And without you guys I would have gone mad in here." He then put the jewellery box that he had been holding in his hand, into his pocket. "I have to go now. And you try everything so that nobody notices it, okay? I'll hurry up as much as I can."

"You are really going to visit your aunt? The one you – er – pumped up then?"

"The very same. But I do hope I don't run into her. Nor into her curs."

"And how are you going to get there? Do you actually know where she lives?"

"Sure. I've been there once, when the Dursleys had to take me along on a trip to her, because the old Figg had been sick and couldn't take care of me. It was the worst weekend ever!" He went into his bedroom and they could hear him rummage in his things. Then he came back with his invisibility cloak in his hand. "May I have your wand, Hermione, please?" he asked all of a sudden.

"Why?" she enquired dumbfounded.

"Well, I still haven't got my license. And if I take another wand, er, maybe the Apparition cannot be noticed as unauthorised, you know? Maybe that's nonsense, but I –"

"I believe you're crazy, Harry. You will probably apparate in single pieces across England," snapped Hermione.

"Give it to me, please, let me at least try!"

Hermione hesitatingly handed her wand over to Harry. He took it, looked at it doubtfully and twirled it warily through the air. Nothing happened. Ron and Hermione were watching him tensely.

"You better try to do it from here to the bedroom or so," suggested Ron. That was a good advice and Harry decided to follow it. He lifted Hermione's wand, took a deep breath and concentrated. When he looked up again he was standing with his shoes on his pillow and was staring at the wall. The other two came through the door. Ron grinned and said, "Wow!", but Hermione gave him an odd look and said nothing.

"What about that?" said Harry triumphantly. "Thanks, Hermione! I'll bring it back to you soon. And now keep your fingers crossed for me that the Dursleys really ran to Aunt Marge for shelter."

"Well, good luck then, mate," said Ron, and with an enquiring look at Hermione who was still standing in the door he continued, "I will use the morning to write a letter to Fabienne."

Harry shook his head in resignation. "I leave you to your own business. See you!"

oooOooo

A few minutes later he was standing in the middle of an unmown, rain-soaked meadow full of molehills. It was grey and chilly there, and he could hear a church clock striking eleven a.m. He looked around hastily and breathed a sigh of relief. He was on Aunt Marge's property, and he couldn't see anybody. He dragged his invisibility cloak out of his bag and put it on. Then he hesitatingly walked towards the old house at the end of the meadow, carefully avoiding the row of dog pounds which were set on the left side under the umbrella of some big elm trees. Equally carefully he looked for the residues of their inmates. He still could remember his only visit to this place too well. Four of the six dog pounds were empty. To him that seemed to be a good omen, because it surely meant that Aunt Marge had gone walking her dogs. But the two bulldogs left were franticly barking and snarling when he passed by under his invisibility cloak. The back door flew open and a sharp voice jangled, "Shut up, you nasty curs! Can't you stop that yapping only once! Your dear mum will surely be back soon!!"

Harry's heart leaped when he recognized that the thin woman with the grey chequered costume was Aunt Petunia. She peeked around distrustfully, and suddenly Harry wondered how he could ever have been so stupid to believe she would listen to him, talk to him. For a moment he felt so uneasy that he immediately wanted to return. But then he pulled himself together and called her with a low voice. "Aunt Petunia! Here, at the dog pounds!"

Petunia stopped as though she had been rooted to the spot.

"Come over here, please! It's me, Harry!"

Either she raised an alarm now, in this case he still could disappear in a second; or she –

Petunia, who seemed to be bonier and paler than ever, came determinedly towards the dog pounds. Slowly Harry removed his invisibility cloak and met her half way. She had red spots on her sunken cheeks and her thin lips were closed so tightly that she seemed really haggard. But she was looking straight at him.

"I – it wasn't me! I mean, the house," said Harry instead of an initial hello. This had to be clarified first of all, he thought.

"You're lucky. Vernon is in London, Grunnings couldn't spare him for long. He's staying at a colleague's place and is trying to get things settled. And Marge is walking the dogs."

"Dudley?"

"Inside, watching TV." And suddenly Petunia burst into tears. "I hate this house! I hate these dogs! The noise they make! Hair and dog's dirt everywhere! And knowing that the own house has been destroyed …!"

Somehow Harry felt guilty. Somehow he _was_ guilty. And unexpectedly he felt something like compassion with this woman whose entire existence had centred on her home, her son and her neighbourhood, and who was now standing here, uprooted, on this meadow full of dog's muck.

"I'm really sorry, Aunt Petunia," he mumbled. "It wasn't me; you just have to believe that."

"I've never thought that," his aunt sobbed. "Vernon did, of course. But it's got something to do with – with your kind of people, hasn't it? All those unexplained details; the insurance company acts up because of that, and the police don't get ahead –" She blew her nose with trembling hands. "Actually, what do you want? You cannot stay here, no way, you know? If Marge or Vernon sees you here –"

"No, that's not what I want. I desperately need to ask you something."

Her lips closed even tighter. "Really, Harry, I've got other problems now. I just don't want to have anything to do with your business. I took care of you for sixteen years and –"

Harry denied himself several answers to these words that crossed his mind, but just said urgently, "Please, it's very important to me. And you are the only one I can ask. Listen to me, only once more!"

"It's about my sister again, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. Then he pulled out the small jewellery box, opened it and showed it to his aunt. She took it reluctantly, looked down into it and immediately up again. Her face closed even more if possible, when she returned the box to Harry.

"Do you know these earrings?" he asked.

"Yes, of course I do. Quite ugly they are. They belonged to Lily."

"Where did she get them?" asked Harry, his heart thumping.

"From Nanna Dora, our great-grandmother. I think you have seen a picture of her in the album I gave you. What's the matter with these ear-pendants?"

The news made Harry gulp. "Do you remember how she gave them to her? Or when, or why?"

"Yes, indeed, I do remember it very well," answered Petunia snappishly. "She came to visit us one Sunday; I must have been about ten years old then. I got a book titled _1000 Jokes for Little People_. And Lily got these – these earrings! A girl of eight! I mean, they weren't particularly pretty, but definitely precious and not at all suitable for a child!"

Aunt Petunia's indignation didn't seem to have diminished over the years. "She hadn't been able to wear a dress without getting it dirty or ripping it. But she got these earrings!"

"Can you – do you remember anything peculiar about your great-grandmother? I mean, what was she like?"

"Well, first of all, she died only a little later," began Aunt Petunia. But then her gaze turned glassy and she fell silent.

Harry waited breathlessly and he could hear his blood rushing in his temples. He felt that every moment Aunt Marge, accompanied by a number of slavering, panting curs, would turn around the corner. Harry thought of urging her once more, but in that very moment Aunt Petunia continued with a totally different voice as if speaking to herself.

"Yes, there was something peculiar about Nanna Dora. I haven't thought of it in all these years, never. I wanted to forget it. When Lily and I visited her, we often baked a cake together. We had a lot of fun. I think she was lonely and looked forward to seeing us. Her husband had died some years ago. And then she did funny little things, when we had finished baking, or when we got tired. She told us she would clean the kitchen magically or so. And then she waved around and said long spells, and we laughed about it, and then the kitchen was _really_ clean. Lily and I could never find out how she did that. But we thought that it was great and pretty funny."

Suddenly Aunt Petunia came back to reality again. She blushed and looked aghast. "I – I didn't know that any more. It came back only now, when you asked me. I was so jealous, because she preferred Lily to me. What does all that mean? Was she a – one of _those_ –? Does it mean Lily had inherited it from _her_? Oh my god, does it mean I or even Dudders ...?!"

Harry had been listening in silence. His mouth was dry, and when he started speaking again, it was only a croak. "Do you remember her husband? Your Great-Grandfather? Or anybody else from her family?"

Petunia gazed at him. "I think she – she didn't have a family," she answered in a low voice. "Other than us, of course. My great-grandfather used to call her 'my little gypsy'. I remember it, because my mum always got angry when he did so. She had been very fond of her and thought it would hurt her feelings."

Harry just stared at her.

"Harry, what's all this good for? And how can you be busy with something like this, now, that all those terrible things happen?"

He only shook his head.

"Listen, you must believe me; I never hated Lily. I never wanted such awful things to happen to her. But she – she always had to play with fire until she burnt her fingers. And now you – doing just the very same! And the same evil things happen," she lowered her voice to an urgent whisper, "exactly like back then. Houses are blown up! People disappear or are oddly murdered!"

A loud barking announced the approach of Aunt Marge. Petunia winced. "She must not see you here! You've got to leave! Please, Harry, go! Life here is like hell already."

Harry nodded. "I'll see if I can send you some money," he said in a hoarse voice. "It probably happened because of me."

The last thing he saw was the surprise on Aunt Petunia's face and the first of the heavily barking bulldogs that jumped to the spot where he had been standing only a split second ago. Then everything turned dark and he felt the pull of Apparition again.

oooOooo

He only then realized how dangerous it had been to apparate – head over heals and as agitated as he was, using somebody else's wand – when he landed on his own feet on the well-known black stoned floor of the house at Grimmauld Place. He felt very exhausted and sank down on the stairs thankfully noticing that nobody could be seen around. He sat there and covered his face with his hands. Didn't want to see anybody. Didn't want to think about anything. But in the red blackness behind his closed eyelids the same single name appeared over and over again.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there when he noticed he wasn't alone anymore. He took his hands off his face and looked up. It was Hermione standing next to him.

"I didn't want to disturb you," she said unusually reserved. "I'm glad you're here again. It really didn't take you very long. Nobody noticed your absence."

She hesitatingly sat down on the stairs beside him and began picking on a frayed out spot of her jeans on her knee. "And? Did you find her?"

Harry nodded.

"Did you get to know what you wanted to know?"

"Yes, I did," he answered in a low voice.

Then they fell silent. The whole house was unusually quiet. "Where is everybody?" asked Harry, only to say something.

"Ron's upstairs in Mrs Black's room. We've been looking around a bit. Hestia's in the kitchen – where else? That's where all of them hang around." Meanwhile Hermione had succeeded in pulling out so many threads off the weak spot in the material that her knee could be seen through the hole.

"Oh, wait, your wand!" remembered Harry all of a sudden. He took it out of his pocket. "Thanks, really. I don't know whether it camouflaged me or not. But it worked perfectly – and till now I don't see anybody coming to arrest me."

Hermione took her wand back again and turned it around in her hands. "You don't want to talk about it, do you?" she finally asked.

"I – I dunno. Have to think about it first," he mumbled.

"Er – I've found the connection between Peverell and Slytherin," she said.

Harry jumped up and Hermione looked at him in surprise.

"There is one? You're sure?"

"Well, yes. A very simple one. I'll show you, come on."

Ahead of Harry she went energetically up the stairs to his flat. "As I said, we've been looking around the Blacks' things a bit, I hope that's okay?"

Harry just nodded. Go on, his eyes said.

"I've really wanted to find that book we had been talking about, this _Wizarding Genealogy_, you remember? I thought that maybe it was put upstairs with all the other stuff. And bingo, I've found it!" she said triumphantly. She tore open the door to the drawing room and went to the desk. It was littered with her parchment rolls, and a very huge tome lay open in the middle of it all. "Here it is, but you better read for yourself," she said turning the book to him.

Harry stared at the page covered with small letters, considerable footnotes and many bracketed links. This book looked definitely like the perfect book for Hermione. To crown it all there were handwritten notes on the sides, too, which made him feel even worse, because it reminded him of the book of the Half Blood Prince. Eventually he began to read.

"It would be best to start right here," Hermione suggested and pointed to a section in the middle of the page. Harry read:

'Due to a few rare documents, most of the history of the Slytherin family could be revealed. The preamble to _Magic Medical Plants_ by healer Leon Peverell, famous in the 13th century, can be named as a major source. In this preamble Leon Peverell proudly mentioned Salazar Slytherin to be in his line of ancestors.'

Harry sighed and kept on reading.

'When Salazar Slytherin, after years of extremely involving travelling, returned back home from the Orient with immense knowledge and apparently with great treasures as well, he was quite renowned and became famous very quickly. Together with his old companion Godric Gryffindor and the two erudite witches …'

Harry ran over a few lines describing the foundation of Hogwarts and went on reading where his eyes met the wanted name:

'In the same year in which he co-founded Hogwarts, he married Lucille Peverell who was of old Norman nobility, _"a damsel whose beauty and wisdom had been praised all over the land_". They had three daughters, Salome, Syriadne and Selena. It is bequeathed that Syriadne married her cousin Jerome Peverell and this way founded the line of Slytherin descendents that is proven up to this century (cf. Leon Peverell, above mentioned text, addendum 4; cp. Genealogical table, p.725; for coat of arms cf. addendum, table 25).

It's most likely but not proven that Salome married a member of the Ghaunt family which had already then been mentioned as a wizarding family. One century later, the prosperous merchant Claudius Ghaunt boasts of his ancestors in the preface of his book _Trade Routes through Muggle Country_ and claims his family to be descendants of Slytherin's daughter Salome who had married Theodorus Ghaunt.

Concerning Salazar's youngest daughter Selena legend has it that Gryffindor fervently fell in love with her, and that they had taken to flight together. When her father finally found them, she drowned herself in the sea. In any case, no descendants of Selena are known.'

Harry turned the page. His fingers were trembling. Family trees and notes of different branches of the Peverell and Ghaunt families followed on the next pages. The pedigrees seemed to have surprisingly few branches; apparently the tradition of marrying within small boundaries of the extended family lead far back. Within the last branch the two families of Peverell and Ghaunt, who had meanwhile changed to _Gaunt_, had united.

Harry couldn't stop looking at the last names – names, he knew already and which he had seen on Sirius' old tapestry only a few days ago. The last name with both the dates of birth and death was Morfin Gaunt. For his sister Merope and his mother Pandora there were only the dates of birth. Instead of the dates of death Harry saw little question marks.

Pandora Gaunt. Pandora Gaunt, nee Peverell. Voldemort's grandmother. Where had she been, then, during the scene in Marvolo Gaunt's house which Dumbledore had let him watch in his Pensieve?

When he finally looked up again, Hermione's eyes were set on him, full of expectation. "Ain't that great? Seemed to be such a difficult question, but we only had to have a look in this book. And we are not the first ones interested in this topic, as you can see."

"I'm sure that Dumbledore knew this anyhow," Harry said tonelessly.

But Hermione's enthusiasm couldn't be abated that easily. "Even the story that this librarian in Godric's Hollow tried to convince you of, seems to have a bit of truth in it. This was probably the true reason for the break-up of Slytherin and Gryffindor!"

"Do you think so?" asked Harry dully. "Ain't that a bit too romantic?" He had other problems, and eventually even Hermione couldn't ignore his lack of exaltation about her discovery. "What's the matter, Harry? What did you find out at your aunt's house?"

Harry moved the things on his desk around, pushed the parchments together, put quills back in the box. "Please give me some more time, Hermione," he finally asked. "I've got to think about it in peace first. Thank you very much for digging out this book. The things became – much clearer than I wanted them to be."

"Okay," said Hermione a bit huffily. "I go and look for Ron then." She closed the door not really gently, and Harry dropped his head on his arms.

Pandora Peverell. Nanna Dora. The little gypsy woman with no family. Pretending to be a witch for the great-grandchildren. All that was unbe-

A yelling scream disrupted the quietness of the house. "Harry, _Harry_! Come fast!"

That was Hermione, and her voice came from upstairs. Harry jumped up and started to run, taking three steps at once. Besides a bathroom there was only one more room on the attic floor, the one that had belonged to Sirius' mother. All the belongings of the Black inheritance that nobody used anymore were stored there now.

The door stood open, and Hermione was kneeling inside on an old carpet. Only little daylight came through the chinks of the jalousie in front of the window. But it was enough to see Ron lying motionlessly on the floor beside Hermione. Harry suddenly became so frightened that he couldn't speak. Hermione looked up with tears in her eyes. "He doesn't move," she snivelled. "And he's hardly breathing."

Harry shook him gently. No reaction. He tried to feel the pulse. When he found it, it seemed to be okay. He drew in a deep breath, trembling, and sank down on the floor, too. "Maybe – maybe he's only practising Substitutional Imagination again," he croaked, but Hermione didn't listen to him at all.

"Oh, Ron! I shouldn't have left him here alone!" She was crying while she held his limp hand.

Only then Harry became aware that the danger, whatever it might be, could still be lurking. He looked around and spotted an object he had seen once before. One of the cabinet doors was standing open and a musical box was lying on the floor in front of the cabinet. Harry stood up and lifted it carefully.

"What is it?" asked Hermione.

"The musical clock. Remember, we wound it up and grew dizzy and sleepy. And then Ginny closed it again."

"But the lid is open now," whispered Hermione. "And it doesn't make any sound."

Harry nodded, watching the little object. It was made of wood, with lightly engraved dancing figures. Only when looking more closely you could see that those figures weren't dancing fairies or Veela but vicious looking, oddly deformed little monsters. Looking disgusted, Harry put the little box back into the cabinet, taking care not to close the lid or damage anything.

"Lupin. Need him." He didn't seem to be able to talk in complete sentences.

"There is nobody here but Hestia." Hermione was still crying. "Why didn't I stay upstairs?"

"Don't go nuts, Hermione," said Harry, gently touching her arm. "He's breathing. He will be okay again; it could be worse." But he felt panic-stricken himself. Ron was so pale, and so stiff. And his skin was so cold. "Maybe we should bring him downstairs, in his bed. Keep him warm. And try to inform Lupin somehow."

They didn't want to use a levitation charm on Ron. That seemed to be rude and would have looked as if –

Harry bent down and narrowly succeeded in lifting Ron, who was quite a bit taller than himself, and carried him downstairs to his room. Meanwhile they had produced enough noise to let Hestia show up on the stairs. "What happened?" she asked alarmed.

"Ron – we don't know. We need Lupin here, right now. Can you reach him?"

She nodded quickly and hurried back downstairs.

Harry and Hermione laid Ron in his bed and blanketed him tightly. His condition still seemed unchanged. They sat beside his bed, frightened, and hardly dared to avert their eyes from him. Minutes passed by slowly.

All of a sudden Lupin stood in the room, his face grey with concern, bringing along a cloud of cool rainy air from outside. A tall, dark haired woman was standing behind him. She promptly went to Ron and bent down to him.

"This is Melanie Raeburn, a healer and member of the Order, as you can guess," explained Lupin.

Melanie Raeburn felt Ron's forehead, his pulse and looked into his eyes by lifting his lids. He showed no reaction at all. "He's suffering from some kind of shock or hex. I can't tell exactly," she said finally. "Do you know what happened?"

They told her about the musical clock. She nodded earnestly.

"I want to have a look at that box," said Lupin.

"There is no danger to life right now. But I can't do much more for him, either. Keeping him warm was a good idea of yours. Go on keeping an eye on him. Maybe he wakes up in a few hours and is back to normal again. We just have to wait," Melanie Raeburn added.

Lupin left the room to examine the musical box. Harry followed him slowly upstairs, meanwhile feeling totally dazed. When he arrived upstairs, Lupin was already holding the box in his hands.

"It was open when we found it. I intentionally didn't close it. Could have been that I – fix something for good by doing that or so," said Harry vaguely.

"That was very thoughtful of you, Harry" said Lupin, pulling out his wand.

"_Specialis revelio_!" he mumbled waving his wand gently over the box. It produced only an odd crunching noise that seemed to come directly from the wood. "It had already stopped playing its melody when you arrived, hadn't it?" asked Lupin.

Harry nodded. "Two years ago, when we were decontaminating this house together with the Weasleys, we opened it once before. We all became very tired and somehow weak when hearing the melody. Ginny just managed to close the lid in time."

"And despite this he's turned it on again?" asked Lupin, his eyebrows lifted.

"Maybe it only fell out of the cabinet," said Harry in a low voice.

Lupin put the box back in the cabinet. With true concern showing on his face he then turned to Harry and said, "We have to wait and see, as Melanie said. And now I have to call the other members of the Order together. We have to have a meeting tonight."

"What happened?" asked Harry, but with the clear feeling not to be able to stand much more today.

"Three days ago a small town near Liverpool had a complete breakdown – er, how do the Muggles call it when their lights and machines don't work – yes, well, a power breakdown. That happens from time to time, as far as I know. But in this case it could not be repaired. And that's not all: Any effort to rebuild some kind of power supply – is that the term? – failed. Nothing is working there at all. The people have to leave the town."

Harry and Lupin looked at each other.

"Magical cause," said Harry more confirming than asking. Lupin nodded. "Very complex magic, in my opinion. No Death Eaters' skirmish. That was a masterpiece."

Harry shuddered. It had finally begun.

oooOooo

They were sitting on Ron's bed the whole evening, hoping Ron would wake up. Down on the lower floor they could hear the people of the Order come in and walk down into the kitchen, but for once that wasn't their main interest. Harry sadly fed Hedwig with owl treats. She had come and sat on his shoulder, almost as if keeping company with him.

"I wish I hadn't left Crookshanks with the Weasleys," said Hermione at this sight. "It would be so comforting to have him here right now. But –"

The rest of her sentence was an ear-piercing scream. Harry turned around. Ron's eyes were open. They seemed to be totally black, but looking closer Harry realized that this impression came from the extremely enlarged pupils. Apparently Ron didn't see anything. He still lay as if paralysed, but his eyes were rolling alarmingly in their eyeholes. It was hard to look at.

"Ron! Ron, can you hear us?" Hermione said urgently and grabbed his hand again. "Ron!"

They stared at him for several minutes and waited for a reaction, but nothing happened. "Do you think he'll be okay?" asked Hermione eventually with her voice trembling.

"I do hope so!" said Harry.

Sometime later they had turned off the lights because they thought that Ron might be disturbed by them, and stayed in the dark that was only lit up by the weak glow of a street lamp from outside. Harry was lying on the carpet, and slowly the memories of what had happened that day came back into his mind.

He wondered whether his mum had known it. And if yes, had she told his dad? Had she told anybody? How had she managed to be a Gryffindor? The same way he had done it?

The Sorting Hat had been right then, he thought bitterly. I should be a Slytherin! He remembered what Slughorn had told him about Lily Evans last year: how he had been teasing her that she should belong to his house. And how she used to talk back to him.

But if she had wanted to keep that a secret, why had she worn the earrings then? And she couldn't have known the whole truth; only Harry could finally make sense of all of it.

Pandora Gaunt must have left her family, her husband and her cute children Morfin and Merope. Harry couldn't even resent her for doing it. Then she had left the wizarding world behind her – and the magic – and had gone into hiding in the Muggles' world. She had married a Muggle and founded a second family. Under the name of Dora, the gypsy. Later Nanna Dora. My mother's grandmother had been Merope's half sister.

Harry burst into a mad snicker which he tried to suppress immediately. I am the Heir of Slytherin, he thought sarcastically. Me, Harry Potter, I'm the last relative of Voldemort alive! Me – and Aunt Petunia and Dudley!

He wondered what his friends would say when he told them. Dumbledore's words came into his mind and made more sense now: that it is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

And then he heard a haunting voice in his head saying to his mother, "I'm afraid you made the wrong decisions, Lily. The wrong decisions again and again. And now you have to bear the consequences."


	8. An Elf's Faithfulness

Hi Amy, your help would be appreciated. Unfortunately, the mail address in your review cannot be read. If you are still interested, please take a look at our translation forum http://goldenefestung.go.funpic.de/phpBB3/

**Chapter Eight:**

**An Elf's Faithfulness**

**Translation by tiger lilly, Threecornerjack, dori85, annebanane, Draconya und Deep Blue)**

Dawn crept through the gaps in the venetian blinds as Harry woke up because somebody shook him by the arm. "Harry, it's really time you wake up! I believe Ron – he's regaining consciousness!"

Harry sat up feeling confused. His back hurt. That was to be expected seeing he had obviously spent the night on the floor. He saw Hermione's excited look and his memory came back to him. From the bed a whimper could be heard, something that didn't sound like Ron at all. They jumped to their feet.

"Everthing's dark," Ron complained, again sounding startlingly like a very young child. "Everything's dark, and it's moving!" He gave a wide eyed stare, pure horror showing in his eyes. But his pupils had returned to their normal size and these were certainly Ron's blue eyes looking at them.

„Ron, we are here with you! You are in the house at Grimmauld Place. It's okay!" Hermione said comforting.

"It was so dark and cold," Ron said, now with his own voice, and tried to get up.

"You've been under a shock spell or under a ban. We don't know exactly. Can you remember anything?" asked Hermione.

Ron stared at the ceiling and cringed.

"Shall we bring you something warm to drink?"

Ron nodded. "Coffee would be great."

They laughed involuntarily. That sounded really like Ron again. Hermione walked away to get coffee from the kitchen

"You winded that musical box up, gee! How stupid can you be?" Harry said roughly. "It almost knocked us down before!"

"Musical box? Rubbish. I didn't see one. Where is this supposed to have happened?"

"Upstairs, in the room of Mrs Black. Hermione and you have been rummaging in her belongings."

Ron looked irritated. "No idea. I can't remember anything. Wait a moment … you apparated to your aunt. With Hermione's wand."

Harry sighed. "Anything else? You really don't know anything?"

Ron thought about it and shivered. "The _voices_," he said, his whisper full of fear. "I heard voices, many, and all mixed up – so scary. I couldn't see anybody because it was dark everywhere. And I couldn't catch what they were saying. It seemed as though they were singing!"

"Have a coffee," Hermione said cheerfully the moment she reentered the room. "Melanie Raeburn spent the night down stairs. She will be up here in a minute to have another look at you."

"What's this nonsense – who is she? _Ouch_!" He had spilled some of the steaming coffee over his hand and on the bed. He sat up, unnerved. "I'm fine. I just can't remember anything but I probably prefer it this way, possibly. Don't we have to get our things packed? Tomorrow –"

He got up in a hurry and groaned."I didn't fall off my broom or down the stairs while I was shocked or whatever? Oh! _Ouch_! All my bones hurt!"

"You should take it easy for the start, Mr Weasley," Raeburn's voice came from somewhere near the door. "Nice to see that you're conscious and feeling alright."

She came in and checked on Ron while he rolled his eyes. "Everything seems to be alright again," she finally said. "But I will give you a bottle of this along all the same. Take some of it if you should feel unusually tired again. Ten to fifteen should be enough."

Ron yawned heartily. Hermione and Harry grinned.

"And you look after you friend! It is possible that it occurs again. And I don't have to tell you how uncomfortable it could get if he was on his own in such a state."

"We'll watch out for him," said Hermione. "He will be able to join us when we leave for school tomorrow, won't he?"

"I think so. As long as he continues to feel alright."

"First of all I need something to eat," said Ron.

oooOooo

Later that morning they started packing their things, getting ready for their departure to Hogwarts. Hermione had refused to wash Harry's and Ron's clothing or to remind them contiuously that they should get it done. Now they just crumpled their clothes back into the trunks, deciding that they could just as well get them washed when they were back at Hogwarts.

To Harry it was a queer thought that he was actually going back to school again. He felt that decisions about how he should lead his life were being made by the Ministry and people from the Order of the Phoenix and he was feeling helpless, finding no way to avoid this. If it was really true that he would have to defeat Voldemort on his own, how could he be so defenceless against getting bound down by bureaucratic regulations? Why had he submitted to their rules over and over again? Why hadn't he just left at Godric's Hollow or even earlier, on his birthday?

Because the Ministry might have finally checkmated me this time. Because I might have risked that the only weapon that exists against Voldemort would be locked away indefinitely. He didn't like what he was thinking of himself. But to be honest it was exactly what it amounted to. He didn't want to disappoint Dumbledore. Under no circumstances did he want to fail. Whatever he or anybody else could say about it, he sensed that it was his task in life to put an end to Voldemort. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore – they should not have died in vain. And yes, he wanted revenge. He wanted Snape punished – no, _annihilated_, and Draco locked up securely.

What in the world should he do now? How could he unravel the maze? He had an inkling that many threads of the maze united in Hogwarts. After all, Hogwarts had been Tom Riddle's only home, as it had been Harry's only home. It was not unlikely to find clues there, or even answers. Thus, to start looking for the Horcruxes in Hogwarts could not be entirely wrong.

The horror of Ron's accident was still in his mind but during the last two weeks he had understood that he would need his friends if he wanted to succeed in his mission. He had started to accepting this, just as he had put up with the possibility, no, the _probability_ that they could suffer damages. He would be to blame if something happened to them but he had to take this guilt.

It was more important than anything else to destroy Lord Voldemort and to put an end to his terror. More important than his own well-being and that of his friends. This insight drummed in his head and in his soul. He cringed – and at the same time something grew inside him. The time was ripe to take up responsibility – and, if necessary, even guilt. The burden of his confusion lightened, his worries to involve others disappeared, also the question of where to begin and how to finish this business of his. Ron and Hermione would be at his side. Together, they certainly should be able to find a passable path. Professor Dumbledore probably had this in mind when he allowed Harry to tell them – and only them! – about what he had seen in the Pensieve, and about what he and Dumbledore had discussed then.

He saw Hermione coming in with a pile of books. "Damn it, I didn't buy school stuff!" he suddenly realized at this sight. She approached with a smile and put the books on the table.

"We bought them for you on spec. We thought you still might come back."

He smiled back. "Thank you. You two really are the best. Thank you!"

"But don't you forget this," she added and slammed another book on the pile. Harry frowned when he noticed it to be Snape's copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ – the book of the Prince.

"You'll need it, Harry. If only to delude Professor Slughorn who might otherwise be surprised about your poor performance in Potions' class. And you never know what else there's in it for you ..."

Harry nodded obediently.

"Something else: We should take _Nature's Nobility_."

"That brick of a book? Do we really need it?"

"I believe so. You've never told us about this thing with Peverell and Slytherin, but it obviously is very important to you. Let's take the book, just in case you wanna check something."

"Ok, ok, I'll take it." He put the book (which was still on his desk) with the rest of them. After some hesitation, he added the jewellery box containing his mom's earrings and the album of photographs which Aunt Petunia had given to him. He already had packed the writing quill – which actually was a port key – that should enable him to appear at Grimmauld Place any time he desired. His dad's Golden Snitch and the glass frame of his mom which he had taken from Godric's Hollow were locked away in a special compartment of his suitcase.

This morning, Harry had avoided to further reflecting about his family history. What if he actually was a descendant of Slytherin? Weren't all these stories about blood lines and ancestry pretty stupid? More than thousend years had passed since the times of Salazar. Why should he care about him, today?! But Lord Voldemort probably cared. He _had_ to know it and maybe –

And, all of a sudden, Harry remembered that there were rumors about Gryffindor ancestors in his dad's family. Maybe they were just invented but what if Lord Voldemort knew about it, too? Did it mean anything? The reunion of Slytherin and Gryffindor in his person? The thought made Harry shudder.

oooOooo

It was cold and hazy for a morning in August. There was an unbelievable jostle on platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross. Has it always been that way? He could hardly assume that more students than usual were crowding this year, on the contrary, but it seemed to him that it has never been so full and loud. And how young they all looked! Harry noticed two tots whose luggage seemed to be considerably bigger than them. Hedwig blustered indignantly in her cage when she was hustled once again.

"It's nearly eleven!" Hermione said, sounding worried. "Do you think he'll make it on time?"

"He's back there. And he's having a hard time lugging that animal of yours along!" Harry said, pointing to Bill Weasley who was just arriving, clearly out of breath. With one hand he held a large basket in which the bad tempered Crookshanks, Hermione's tomcat, had been locked. In the other hand he had the swinging cage containing the excitedly twittering Pigwidgeon, Ron's tiny owl. Both owners were happy to have their pets back.

"I couldn't get here any earlier. That stupid Arnold went off in the last moment. We searched the whole house so that Ginny – oh well," Bill suddenly stopped. "I had the impression that she wasn't really happy so I at least wanted her to have this Pygmy Puff. And we finally found him."

They looked at each other, feeling somewhat awkward. Harry bent his head.

"Don't look like that. I believe that Ginny really took the right decision," said Bill who had again put his hair in a simple pony tail and was wearing the familiar snake tooth earring. His torn-up face earned him a lot curious and secret looks. "Ok, folks, I'm on my way to the Ministry. Have a good time and watch out for yourselves," he said and disappeared in the crowd.

As Harry looked in the direction Bill had left, he saw Lupin and Tonks not far away, saying good-bye with a passionate kiss. He turned away and followed Hermione to board the train. Ron got on behind them, still a bit unsteady on his legs and very pale. It wasn't easy for them to find a few unoccupied seats. In the cramped passage they saw Neville Longbottom waving.

"Come over here, I'm keeping the seats for you!" he called and earned himself a few angry stares from those people who had just shoved their way up to his compartment. But Neville remained unimpressed and defended the spare seats until the three had reached him.

"Phew!" said Hermione when she had finally placed her trunk in the baggage rack.

"Full today isn't it?" the friendly question came from Luna Lovegood who was sitting at the window and had looked up from her magazine. Harry noticed that she too had done something to her hair. She looked quite pretty.

"And I have to pass again in a moment," moaned Hermione.

"Why, where do you want to go?" Ron asked surprised after he had made himself comfortable across from Luna. "Fortunately, our days as prefects are over, aren't they? Now the next generation moves into, as far as I know?"

Hermione was rummaging in her bag.

"Hey, Hermy! Spit it out, what's going on?" Ron urged.

Hermione stopped rummaging and looked at them. "I haven't got an opportunity to tell you yet," she started. "But I was made head girl. The letter arrived the day after Bill's wedding."

Ron, Harry, Neville and Luna stared at her. Then they started cheering and applauding. Hermione blushed and tried not to look too pleased with herself.

"At the moment that only means I have to go over to the compartment of –"

"The people in charge?"

"Well, whatever. At least along the passageway."

"Where did Ginny get to?" asked Luna.

Ron looked a bit uncomfortable. "She's not coming with us. Starting from today she will spend a year at Beauxbatons."

"_What_?" asked Luna, astonished. And then, as bluntly as usual, "Is that because of you, Harry?"

Everyone looked at Harry.

"Yes," he finally said. "Think so, somehow. Could we change the subject, please? I didn't know that myself, until last night and need some time to get used to it."

Following that, the compartment became awkwardly silent. Harry saw a stream of faces flowing past the compartment window. Though many looked at them, it was different to the previous year. He had felt something like hero worship – especially from the girls – back then. Now he noticed a lot of people staring at him but turning away in a hurry when they noticed that he looked back at them. A few times he read dislike or even hostility on their faces. It didn't bother him much because his life at Hogwarts always seemed to move between these two extremes. One year he was the hero and the next he was suspected of being a villain. But it reminded him of Scrimgeour's nasty comment back at The Burrow which was still on his mind.

Things quietened down once the train started moving. Ron ate his way through a bag of chocolate frogs and started yawning more frequently. Luna read the _Quibbler_ while Neville gazed out of the window.

Our last trip to school, Harry thought and a little melancholy crept up on him though he had felt misplaced earlier on. The murky sky seemed to match his mood. He resettled in his seat and pulled a small piece of parchment out of his shirt pocket.

Then he re-read what he had already read the previous evening after Lupin had passed the letter on to him:

"Hi, Harry,

after we had talked the day of Bill's wedding I accepted that it is no good. Maybe you're right. And Mum either. Well, Mum has suggested that I spend this year as a guest student at Beauxbatons. And I surrendered after our conversation. I'm going to leave on Friday as you all do and I will stay with the Delacours for the first two weeks.

Harry, I'm crying all the time. Why do we have to be so unlucky? I don't want to leave you alone, now that you need us so much. But I understand what you mean. Please, don't forget me at least. We'll meet again!

I'm with you,

Ginny

Harry could see that she had been crying. The small parchment roll showed some spots and some letters were blurred. He felt like crying himself, but on the other hand he felt such a great relief that it almost gave him a bad conscience. He wasn't sure at all, but he thought that she was much safer in Beauxbatons than in Hogwarts or anywhere else close to him.

oooOooo

Later on, after the witch with the food trolley had brought Cauldron Cakes and all the other sweets, the students in the compartment unexpectedly started to feel cosy in a way. Neville, Harry, Ron and Luna were talking about their plans for the future as if nothing had ever happened to let the future look unsecure.

"I am going to study Herbology," said Neville with newly developed self-confidence. "When Snape stopped teaching Potions, I even started to like making potions. Look what I've breeded in the summer!"

Carefully he unwrapped the paper from a small flowerpot and exposed a plant with beautiful white blossoms. They were trumpet-shaped und their colour on the inside was a soft shade of lilac. They exuded a fine sweet smell. "It's a new kind of _'Think-of-me'_. I tried a long time to get them white, but everybody seems to want them in shades of red. If they allow it, I will plant them in front of the tomb."

Nobody had to ask which tomb he meant. It seemed that Dumbledore was still present in their conversations, even unmentionend. That was a fact, Harry soon recognized.

Maybe because they had been talking about plants, Harry remembered that he wanted to ask Luna something. "Luna, have you ever heard of an amulet tree?"

"Sure," she answered. "Everybody has. Or didn't you read _Little Witches_?"

"Uhm – no," Harry replied.

"Oh, right. You're not a girl. But every girl has read that book. You can be sure of that. It mentions the amulet tree or at least its fruit. You break them apart and each gets a half. Only the halves of one pod fit together. It's something like a declaration of love if you get a piece from someone."

"Sounds a bit slushy," Ron said although he secretly thought that it was nicer than a heavy golden necklace with the words _My Sweatheart_ attached to it.

"I don't know _Little Witches_ but I know the amulet tree," Neville announced."You all know it because one tree stands down by the lake of Hogwarts. Professor Sprout has talked several times about it for you can make a tea against headaches from its bark."

Hermione came back into the department. "Many first-years," she reported, frowning. "Honestly, I expected they would refuse to take in new students. Until the situation is solved. Oh, and this Harper is with Slughorn in his compartment, having a little tête-àt-tête. I believe she was one of his students, too."

"Who is Harper?" asked Neville.

"Our new Defense teacher. Our next one-year-candidate," answered Hermione.

"You don't mean _Hekate_ Harper?" asked Luna to everyone's surprise.

"Well, yes, the same. McGonagall's engaged her."

"But she was murdered by a Dementor years ago!"

"Says the Quibbler," said Hermione ironically.

"Yes, and that's not all," continued Luna airily. "She is said to be the daughter of You-Know-Who! And it's really her who was engaged by McGonagall?"

"What a rubbish! Harper was suggested by the ministry! They even ask her for advice as a Legilimens. Do you seriously think they would do so if she was Voldemort's daughter?" Hermione asked impatiently and ignored the twitch caused by the mention of the never said name.

"The chief editor of my father has made investigations for the report at that time," Luna said without being insulted. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Will there be no little gourmet picnics for the chosen members of the Slug Club today?" Ron asked, trying to sound casual. Slughorn's arrogance toward him and his family had deeply offended him.

"Seems there won't be," Hermione replied and as Harry sighed in relief, she added, "Don't rejoice too soon, Harry. He already hinted that he will be having a small dinner to celebrate the beginning of school year in his quarters tomorrow evening and he asked to tell you that you are _explicitly_ invited. He already wants to see _me_ at lunch time tomorrow."

Harry groaned.

oooOooo

When Harry finally entered the Great Hall again, he had a lump in his throat. A wavering feeling had already outside raised in him when the illuminated windows of the castle appeared, blinking through the dark. This was the place he belonged to, the place he had been missing, and of what he had believed he would never see it again. It was absurd, almost ridiculous, to follow the stream of the other students going inside. At the same time he was afraid that everything would change without Dumbledore. Hermione was walking beside him, and she seemed to feel about the same because she had a strained look on her face as if trying hard to keep balance. Ron still looked a bit glass-eyed as he slowly moved on behind them.

Same as in the years before, the Great Hall had been brightly lit for the feast on the first evening. Countless candles floated above the tables in the air that was already bearing the pleasant scents of a large variety of delicious food although the plates were still empty.

Harry, Ron and Hermione felt relief as they made their way to the Gryffindor table and greeted their school mates. The hall was buzzing with all the voices but a keen ear could pick up that the overtone of exuberance and carefreeness was missing this year. People said their hellos and exchanged news, happy to be together again. But everything was a little more subdued than these evenings usually were.

Finally the eyes of the students went up to the teachers table at the far end of the hall more often as the evening went by and the noise became less. There sat Professor McGonagall with a friendly albeit serious expression and Harry felt a stab as he remembered Dumbledore's cheerful imperturbability.

They were all there – Professors Flitwick, Slughorn, Sinistra, Vector, Binns, even Trelawney and, to Harry´s delight, Hagrid too, easily to be spotted and wearing his best suit.

Snape's seat was today occupied by Hekate Harper who was attracting most of the curious glances but didn´t seem to mind. It was her wavy, chin long hair that immediately caught the eye because it was bright white although she seemed to be the youngest teacher at the table. Her robes were dark and showed signs of negligence. Even Harry noticed that a part of the hem at the sleeve of her cloak had come undone.

Harry looked around a bit more and tried to spot gaps in the rows of his fellow students. Hardly anyone seemed missing from the Gryffindor table but at the table of the Slytherins obviously some seats remained empty. Of course Draco was missing but also Crabbe and Goyle and several others. With anxiety in his heart Harry took a closer look at the Slytherins. Did they look like the coming dark wizards? Was it really that bad to be a Slytherin?

The rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor looked like a childish game to him now, something that gave a little spice to the normal school days but he no longer seriously believed that this split marked the gap between good and dark wizards. And still he was glad not to have to sit at that table, and even more glad that nobody but him knew that he in fact ought to have belonged there.

During the last two years the Sorting Hat had suddenly placed the emphasis of his song on the necessary unity of the four Hogwarts' houses facing the impending danger. Harry was just wondering what the song would be about this time when the long line of new students entered, led by Professor Sprout, stepping out resolutely and carrying a three-legged stool in one hand and the ancient Sorting Hat in the other. The new first-years looked the same way as they looked each year: nervous pale tots, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar impressions and eager for the upcoming ritual of the Sorting Ceremony.

It fell completely silent in the Great Hall now, so really everybody could hear Ron's yawning, but nobody giggled. Only Nearly Headless Nick threw a reproachful look at him.

Professor Sprout, who had apparently overtaken Professor McGonagall's duties this year, placed the stool in front of the newcomers and put the hat on top of it. And then everybody waited for the song of the hat which started each new school year with a variation of the founders' story.

The silence extended and Harry started to feel uncomfortable. Every caugh, sneeze, hem-hemming could be heard. People started to look around and mumble. The hat though remained quiet; something that had never before happened.

"What do you think is going on?" Seamus Finnigan asked those around him with a hiss. "Why doesn't it get started?"

"Maybe – perhaps it doesn't think it's right that the school has reopened?" Neville pondered in a hushed voice. All around people started whispering similar views. The new first years were on the verge of fidgiting and voicing their questions.

Finally it became clear that the hat would not talk. Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress, rose from her seat. Instantly everyone went quiet.

"Apparently there is another innovation this year," she thoughtfully commented. "The hat remains quiet and we will have to find out the reason for its silence." She hesitated. Harry understood that she was considering if the hat would break its silence and take up the task of assigning the new pupils to their respective houses. As she continued to speak, she had taken her decision.

"Well, first of all I would like to welcome you all, the new and the old students. Seeing the Sorting Hat will obviously not be selecting houses this year, I suggest that the new pupils just take a seat anywhere where it is available at one of the tables."

At this the Hall erupted with loud conversation. Nothing like this had ever happened before, it was simply unheard-of. No allocation! The new pupils where to pick their table, their house, _themselves_?

Harry's and Hermione's eyes met over all the noise. "It refuses to continue the Sorting!" Hermione whispered, and Harry nodded. "Unity against the enemy," he murmured.

Hesitantly and confusedly, the first-years went to their seats. Grim-looking Pansy Parkinson at the Slytherin table was suddenly cornered by four first-years, which did not seem to cheer her up to any extent.

"Enjoy your meal!" Professor McGonagall said with a small smile. "Everything else will be said after dessert."

They applauded and the tension seemed to recede a bit. The food that had suddenly appeared assisted further and shortly afterwards everyone was busy tucking in.

"I'm so glad we don't have to look at that old grease head up there any more," said Ron indistinctly through a piece of steak and nodded towards the teachers' table.

"Oh, that reminds me of something," said Dean Thomas, also with his mouth full. "Did you hear that the Malfoys have disappeared? I mean all of them. Draco's parents, too. And their house was abandoned for weeks and apparently it was looted."

"Who told you that?" asked Hermione.

"My oncle, he's with the Magical Law Enforcement Squad."

Harry thought that this topic didn't suit the meal. He wondered whether he alone felt so oversensitive towards everything that even only slightly touched Dumbledore's death. Then he realized the he was the only one who had watched Draco's helpless try to murder and Snape's _Avada Kedavra_. His appetite was gone and he was half-heartedly chewing on a piece of cupcake when Professor McGonagall rose again.

"Now, that we all have had enough to eat, I want to say a few words. First of all I'm glad to see that so many of you have returned. And because we've expected that and have hoped so, the board has decided to keep the school open against all opposing circumstances."

"All of us," she continued hesitantly, "we all mourn the death of Albus Dumbledore, who determined the inner values of this school for so many years with his unsurpassed wisdom, his kindness, his broad-mindedness and last but not least his sense of humour. Loosing him has left a gap in our midst that will never be filled. But I am absolutely convinced that the best way to honour the memory of Albus Dumbledore is to continue: keeping his aims in mind to have this school, _his_ school, be a place where young witches and wizards can be taught and educated in the spirit of freedom and tolerance. On this thought I again like to express my welcome to all of you.

Furthermore I ask you to not participate in spreading any malicious rumors especially concerning Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy, both of whom could presently by considered the most unfortunate members of our community. As Professor Dumbledore would have said, we will not judge until the outcome of this matter becomes clear."

Harry pulled a face. _Malicious rumors_?

"Now I would like to introduce a new member of the staff: Professor Hekate Harper, who has not shrunk away from accepting the position of your new teacher in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Harper smiled at the students and they applauded.

"I myself will stay headmistress of the school until the new headmaster is elected in March. I'm sure I don't have to explain the situation we re all dealing with. Only this: I instruct you to obey every single order for your own security. We are under the protection of – well, extra guards, and the special Shield Charms protecting Hogwarts are being checked and adapted right now. You are safe here. So learn and work hard!"

With an earnest smile McGonagall's eyes travelled over all the faces looking at her, and she sat down again.

oooOooo

After the feast, when the others had left for their common rooms or even their dormitories, Harry's restlessness showed up again. He decided to pay the office of the headmistress a visit, hoping that Professor McGonagall would be in there and would allow him to enter. He was sure to think of some excuse for coming there at this time of day. He simply had to know if Dumbledore was inside his portrait, if he was still asleep or if by any chance he might –

He didn't dare come to the end of this thought. He so very much wished to hear the voice of the former Headmaster.

But when Harry finally arrived at the corridor of the seventh floor in front of the gargoyle that needed to jump aside to make way to the headmaster's office, everything was dark and deserted. Harry had no idea which password he needed today to make the gargoyle move. He had tried _Sherbet drops_ but as he had expected it didn't work. The gargoyle seemed to smirk at him.

Slowly he walked back. When he arrived in the common room of the Gryffindors he found it deserted. A few empty butter beer bottles, bags that had contained potatoe chips and loads of crumbs were strewed around the place. Work for the house elves. Harry was tired but he remembered one thing that he might still get done that day. "Dobby?" he called into the silence of the empty room.

He waited but nothing happened. "Dobby? Kreacher?" he then reluctantly called his own house elf who was now working at Hogwarts. He didn´t really feel like coming up against him today and he had a hunch that it wouldn't do much good. Kreacher, the elf he had inherited from Sirius Black, hated him unyieldingly. Despite that he still would have had to appear upon Harry's request.

As Dobby didn't come – who usually was very keen to turn up instantly to offer his services to him – Harry got a feeling that there was something wrong. He decided to go down to the kitchen and check for himself. Maybe they all just had too much work after the feast of the first evening.

He hurried through the dark corridors and down badly lit stairs (where he once had to duck so that the professors McGonagall and Harper who were walking along, engaged in a conversation, didn't see him) until he reached the corridor in front of the kitchen. On the wall there was a still life painting of fruit. He touched the depicted pear which started to giggle and squirm until it turned into a door handle. Harry opened the door.

In the castle's giant kitchen the elves, clad in dish towels, were buzzing around, cleaning the dishes and tidying everything up after the enormous feast. It looked just the way Harry had imagined it. After a while he managed to ask one of them where Dobby was.

"I heard that he wanted to look how Kreacher was doing, Sir. Kreacher threw a – tantrum a while ago. As he heard that Harry Potter was in Hogwarts, he –" At this point he was interrupted but further explanations were no longer required because it was Kreacher and Dobby who came crashing through the other entrance to the kitchen, holding on to one another in a fierce fight. The elves looked up from their work, their eyes wide while they followed what was happening.

"It belongs to Harry Potter!" shouted Dobby furiously, pulling on a black object in Kreacher's hands.

Kreacher hissed with rage. "Kreacher spits on the name of the mudblood! He won't get the books of my mistress! Never ever!"

"Your master has left it to Harry Potter! Hand it over!"

Harry realized that the black object was a book. He saw twinkling binders made of silver and something that looked like a zipper along three edges of the book. Now Dobby had noticed him. "Harry Potter, Sir!" he called out loud. "Kreacher has been hiding his master´s things!"

Kreacher stopped as he also noticed Harry. An ugly expression appeared on his already evil face. He tore the book from the hands of the distracted Dobby and started running. But Dobby caught his leg, Kreacher tripped and swore. He kicked at Dobby with such force that Dobby flew back a few steps. Then he sat up and looked around. As he noticed that Harry was coming towards him, he held on to the book and with an expression of desperation he dug his needle-sharp teeth into the black cover. He actually managed to bite a bit out of it.

He chewed and tried to swallow, causing his eyes to bulge from their sockets. Then he took another bite but wasn't able to get a further piece out of the cover. As he realized this he only hesitated a second, pressed the book against his lean chest, screamed and plunged himself into the crackling fire of the big hearth.

"No, _don't_!" Harry cried out in distress.

Instantly several elves approached the hearth and pulled Kreacher out of the flames which hadn't even singed his only piece of clothing, his grimy loin-cloth. But the old elf was lying on the floor, writhing and screaming as though on fire. He still held the book close, his hands cramped so hard that they looked like claws.

"No, oh no, Kreacher is a miserable failure! Kreacher let his mistress down!" he screamed, and Harry could see his face becoming a weird shade of blue. "Now the mudblood will get it all! Oh, what will mistress say to Kreacher!" He was rolling on the floor and was apparently suffering from horrible pain.

"We've got to do something!" spluttered Harry. "We must help him!" He knelt next to him and tried to take his arm but Kreacher jerked away as if he had been bitten. Harry recoiled at the utter disgust showing on Kreacher's old face which was distorted in disgust.

"Harry Potter will _not _touch Kreacher!" he snarled. "Kreacher will not be stained in death! _Off_! Off with Potter!"

Then pain overwhelmed him. He screamed and his big eyes bulged more and more. Big tears ran down his face. "Mistress must forgive Kreacher!" he howled, apparently suffocating. "Such pains!" he wheezed. "_Hurts_! Kreacher – won't – die – help –"

Then his voice broke, and he was hurled over the floor, wincing as if pain raged inside him like a furious animal. At last his hands dropped limply, the book fell down with a final crash. Then Kreacher lay still. He had turned blue in the face, his tongue hung out of his distorted mouth and his eyes were rolled up in a way that one could see only the white of his eyes. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his right eye.

The sudden silence rang in Harry's ears. He was trembling. Only just two weeks ago, he had relived his parents' deaths and he had been eye-witness to Sirius' and Dumbledore's deaths. But in no case he had seen somebody really dying. The _Avada Kedavra_ had struck his parents like lightning, and both Sirius and Dumbledore had been hidden from him in the moment they were dying. But this was what dying could look like. This was its ugly face.

Shock was written all over the house-elves' little faces as well. They still stood paralyzed when they heard hurried steps on the stairs. Then the door was briskly opened and McGonagall stood in the kitchen.

"What's going on here?" she asked harshly. Behind her was Professor Harper. They saw the dead house-elf on the kitchen floor. "What happened?"

"He wanted to – destroy that book there," Harry said with a croaked voice. "Didn't want me to get hold of it, I think."

"What sort of book is that, Potter?"

Harper had already picked it up. She was looking at the big Black's coats of arms that adorned the deep black cover.

"I don't know," said Harry. "But I think he's dead. Tried to eat it, and when he realized he couldn't he just jumped into the fire with it."

Harper looked at him. "This book cannot be opened," she said.

"It's mine. Give it to me, please," said Harry, looking determined.

"I see that it bears the Black's family's coats of arms," Harper replied calmly. "Why should this book belong to you, Mr Potter?"

"Sirius Black was my godfather. When he died, he left all his possessions to me," answered Harry and grasped for the book with a determined face. Harper allowed it to be taken from her hands.

"Wait a minute!" said Professor McGonagall. "Apparently, this book has just killed a house-elf. I will not allow you to simply take it with you, Mr Potter!"

"It's mine. I will be careful with it but I will keep it."

McGonagall and he stared in each other's eyes. After a while, McGonagall looked away and said coldly, "You are of age, Potter. Thus I won't stop you although being your headmistress I'd had every right to do so. I am warning you, though, not to endanger anybody else with that."

Harry shook his head.

"I can presumably help you to open this book," Professor Harper said. "You are always welcome to see me because of it."

McGonagall was still looking at him very sternly.

"What can we do about Kreacher?" Harry whispered. "What will happen to him now?"

"You leave that to the elves. They don't like us to meddle in these things. They've got their own customs." McGonagall huffed as if she couldn't believe that he was that ignorant and yet dared to defy her.

"Don't you think that his death should be examined more closely?"

"There is no need to remind me of my duties, Potter, thank you. Take your book and get out to you dormitory where you should have been for an hour or so anyway. We will still have to talk tomorrow!"

Harry left the kitchen on shaky legs.

oooOooo

Harry was finally lying on his bed with the blanket nearly pulled over his head. He heard the more or less loud breathing of his surrounding roommates and desperately tried to remember something of Julia Tranquill's _Silence of the Thoughts_ that could possibly help him now. But his exercises in Occlumency had not yet progressed that far, so it didn't help. He was trembling all over or more precisely shaking.

Am I capable of killing someone? Can I really take somebody's life? Can I deliberately cause such pain? _Will I be able to kill?_


	9. Books and More Books

**Chapter Nine:****  
****Books and More Books**

**_(Translation by annebanane)_**

When Harry and Ron came down for breakfast, Hermione was already sitting at the table and studying the _Prophet_. "Here, look at that!" she said cheerlessly.

It was all in the headline: _"Power" gone – two more towns evacuated. __Muggle__ Prime Minister contacts Minister Scrimgeour_."

"Oh, gosh! The Prime Minister?" asked Harry in surprise.

"Well, yes, strange, ain't it? Somehow I always thought that Voldemort would only be interested in the Magical World."

"Here it says that they loot in the towns. The people are fleeing. The neighbouring towns are crowded with refugees. And nobody knows what's going on."

That was really scary somehow. Harry realized that, at the back of his mind, he had always clung to the hope of resorting to living in the Muggle world if bad went to worse, because things were still quite okay there.

"The Muggles think it might be terrorists," said Hermione, "but they have no idea how they could have done it – and how it can be repaired. Till now it's only been small towns. Have you ever thought of what would happen if he chose, let's say, London?"

Nobody dared to imagine that more precisely.

And _I_ am supposed to stop him, thought Harry desperately. Me, who is not even able to open that damn book!

"I have to tell you something later on. Come to the lake with me after breakfast," he said eventually and helped himself to a cup of pumpkin juice.

"Don't keep us in suspense, Harry. What's the matter?"

"Mc Gonagall's lesson starts in fourty-five minutes," Hermione added a bit impatiently.

Harry spread jam on an unusually dry piece of toast. "I can't tell you here, not during breakfast."

"Okay then, let's go to the lake," said Hermione, "but right now!"

It was bright and sunny outside again but astonishingly cold.

"The leaves are falling already!" Hermione said, sounding surprised, when they took the path to the lake. Indeed there was a thin layer of limp leaves around the old trees on the lakeshore. But Harry had something else on his mind but the beginning of fall. He took the black book out of his bag. He had to bring himself to touch it. "I got this last night," he said. "It caused Kreacher's – Kreacher's death."

"What?!"

"I'd never thought he could die at all," said Ron. "With all that poison in him – I thought he must be preserved."

The other two gave him a punishing look. "What does that mean, the book caused his death?" asked Hermione then.

"He didn't want to give it to me. He preferred to go down together with the book. He jumped into the fireplace, but that didn't do him any harm. What really killed him was the piece he bit off here." He showed them the little hole in the leather cover where Kreacher's teeth had hit it.

Hermione looked as if she was feeling sick. "My god, what kind of book is that?"

"It belongs to the Blacks' inheritance, and that's why Kreacher didn't want me to get it. But I have no idea what it is. I can't open it."

"Oh no, not such a fishy thing again!" sighed Ron.

"Nonsense," said Hermione. "We'll get that open. There is a kind of lock, isn't it?"

They examined what Harry had thought to be something like a zipper last night. There were tiny spiral snakes coming from the borders of the front and back cover, tightly interlocking. This lock didn't move at all, no matter how many hexes Hermione used.

"We could try to destroy it," suggested Ron, "cut the lid off or so."

"Yes, and be attacked by the thing! Think of Kreacher. That wasn't by pure chance!" said Hermione.

Finally they had to give up for the moment.

"Professor Harper offered to help me getting it open," said Harry. "She and McGonagall came along, when Kreacher – had died."

"Well, let's go to her."

"I dunno. We don't know who she really is by now. And who knows what kind of book this is. By the way, she recognized the Black coat of arms."

"I wouldn't involve a teacher, either," said Ron. "On principle. You ask them for help and end up with detention on Saturday afternoon."

Harry nodded.

"In any case we have to go back now. McGonagall will get very angry if we're late."

oooOOOooo

Some minutes later they all sat in the classroom of Transfiguration, and Harry again felt that sense of irreality. It got even stronger when he saw Lavender Brown quickly turning to Ron and giving him a flirtatious smile. Apparently she still hadn't given up. Hermione, who sat beside Harry, didn't even notice.

"Good morning, class," began Professor McGonagall. "I welcome you to your last year in school. Later today I'm as usual going to talk to each of you separately about the tests and the choice of subjects you made. But before we start the lesson, I want to discuss some other topics. First of all there is your graduation ceremony. Traditionally the seventh grade bid farewell with a ball. I suggest appointing a ball committee and that everybody makes somehow a contribution to it. Previous experience has shown that there is much more work to do than it seems in the beginning. And please start early enough to take care of your dress robes," she said looking mainly at the male students.

So they elected a ball committee that was presided by Lavender.

"The next topic is the year book. Each graduating class gets a year book, where every student is given recognition in an article with a picture. The management of this project usually lies in the hands of a sixth-grade student, so that the seventh-grades can concentrate better on the final exams. This year's volunteer is Luna Lovegood. Does anybody here want to support her?"

To everybody's surprise Ron agreed, blushing pretty much. "I could take over the part with the pictures," he said.

Year books and Horcruxes, thought Harry, I can't believe it!

"Some words about security. For you also the trips to Hogsmeade are cancelled for the time being. I'm sorry for you but there is nothing to do about it.

Furthermore due to the recent occurrences you will be taught a special lesson in Professor Harper's class this year: Fighting with Magical Weapons. I vouched for every one of you and I do hope you won't be a disgrace to me. Professor Harper herself will tell you more details this afternoon.

Finally I have to tell you that no Quidditch playing will take place for now. Only when it's clarified that all the Defensive Spells and Charms are still working we will decide how to go on. Believe me, I'm not delighted about that, either!" she said hearing some exclamations of indignation.

Harry was bitterly disappointed. Although he had announced his resignation from his position as Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team to McGonagall before his departure this summer – he hadn't planned to return to Hogwarts at all – he had been looking forward to practising Quidditch since he had decided to return.

"Well, let's start now," continued Professor McGonagall. "The first topic this year will be the more complicated Changes of Rooms. How to enlarge a room, how to shrink it. Can you imagine something else you could do to a given room? Yes, Miss Granger?"

And so the lessons of the seventh grade began officially and unhurriedly.

oooOOOooo

After lunch and a short talk about their chosen topics with McGonagall Harry and Ron were once more strolling over the sunny grounds to the lake. They sat down under the big beech tree and kept watching the orange-red and dark ochre leaves on the backdrop of a blue sky, falling down with each flurry. Hermione had gulped her meal and dashed off to the meeting with Professor Slughorn she had already been talking about on the train. Harry and Ron on the other side had decided to enjoy their free time.

Just when they had gone down the wide stairs two sixth-grade girls passed them by, one of them angrily glancing back at Harry over her shoulder. He had been able to understand what she said to her girlfriend: _Why couldn't he stay away? At least Ginny would be here then!_ It still went through his head.

"Let's go and visit Hagrid," suggested Ron.

"Good idea. By the way, what made you volunteer for this year book stuff?"

Ron blushed again and kept silent for a few steps. "I thought it might be fun to work together with Luna. And I think that I can handle these few pictures easily."

Harry decided not to comment this any further. Poor Hermione, he thought. I really feel sorry for her.

The bright weather had attracted many pupils to come outside on the grounds and to the lake. There were permanently balls or other flying objects to be avoided. Suddenly Harry longed for a good and real Quidditch training.

"Do you also expect to see Malfoy somewhere around here at any moment?" asked Ron.

"Nope," answered Harry, who tried to avoid thinking of Malfoy as much as possible.

"Somehow I almost miss something now that I don't have to be prepared to see his arrogant mug all the time. And Snape – too. Not that I really miss him, but –"

"Now shut up, Ron. I don't want to hear anything about Snape any more. I really hope he's sitting somewhere in a dark room and is – suffering." Harry himself was appalled at the intensity of his hatred when the words had been spoken. Ron watched him enquiringly from the side but kept silent, for they had almost reached Hagrid's cabin. Besides the blackened fundament nothing pointed to the fact that the cabin had been ablaze only some two month ago. They could see Hagrid walking around behind the house in the garden.

"Hello, Hagrid!" shouted Ron. "Your house looks like new!"

"Hello, boys! Good to see yeh! Where've yeh left Hermione?"

"She went to chat with Slughorn."

"Oh. Dam' ambitious, our Hermione, i'nt she? Well, yeh can go inside an' put the water on ter boil. I'm comin' in a minute, first have to harvest some more pum'kins. They really got ground frost las' night! In August!"

They were watching him carrying tremendous pumpkins with his equally tremendous hands to a small stone wall and stacking them along the sun-heated stones. Then they noticed a new building in a bit of a distance.

"Hagrid, what's that over there?" asked Ron pointing towards the small, dome-shaped building that somehow resembled a closed garden pavilion.

"New buildin'," mumbled Hagrid, "Professor McGonagall's order."

Harry and Ron looked at each other. They had a sense of foreboding. "What's in it?" asked Harry.

"Headmaster's business," mumbled Hagrid in an even lower voice. "Jus' don't ask, you two, okay?"

"Well, it's probably better not to know," said Ron. "I will sleep better this way."

They went back to the front door when Harry stumbled over something in the high grass and fell. Angrily he picked up a tin plate that had been lying in his way, hidden from view.

"Hey, Hagrid, do you throw your plates out of the window nowadays? Did you miss this one?"

Hagrid gave only a quick glance. "Oh, there it is. Knew it mus' be 'round here somewhere. Sometimes I put some leftovers on it for a few strayin' animals. They stay outta my house this way."

Harry grimaced when he noticed the sticky remains of old meat on the plate. "Straying animals?"

"Cats," said Hagrid, "I jus' dislike them in the house, an' Fang even more."

Finally they entered the one-room house through the open door. The huge dog that was sleeping in front of the fireplace kept perfectly quiet. Fang had known them for a long time. They put the water on to boil, and Hagrid came inside just as the kettle started whistling. With his bear-like stature he seemed to fill out at least half of the room.

"Let me have a go," he said and took the tea box out of Ron's hand. "Yeh have to take a good amount of it!" He shovelled tealeaves into the teapot, and Harry and Ron changed a glance of resignation. "I've got rock cookies, too," said Hagrid cheerfully. "But there ain't many left. Grawp loves 'em, so I bring most o' them to him."

Hagrid's half-brother Grawp was a giant whose love for rock cookies was probably one of his nicest attributes. For some time now he was living in a cave in the mountains where Hagrid constantly looked after him and was keen to teach him.

"He's always askin' for Hermione, Grawp. She really gotta come 'n' visit him some time." About this Ron and Harry also had their own opinion but preferred to keep silent.

"Come on, tell us what's in this garden pavilion?" asked Ron, dipping his cookie into the steaming, dark black tea.

"Garden pavilion?" Hagrid really seemed confused. "Oh, yeh mean the basin. Aargh, said too much again."

"Basin? There's a _pool_ inside?" asked Harry stunned.

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "but yeh better stay outta it."

They had suspected something like that.

"So, what kind of animal is it that's in there?"

"Gravedigger."

"Huh?"

"Gravedigger beetles? _Burying_ beetles?" asked Harry disbelievingly.

"Naa, not beetles. Jellyfish! Gravedigger Jellyfish."

"Never heard of them."

"No loss. They're dam' toxic an' always in a dam' bad temper," grumbled Hagrid, "I'm really tryin' hard, but they never get enough. Gorgin' endlessly."

"Perhaps they're missing the sea?" suggested Ron.

"They don't live in the sea. They're freshwater jellyfish. Yeh can come an' have a look some day. But yeh mus'n't go too close."

"And they're for McGonagall?"

"Fer her an' Professor Slughorn. Need the toxin. But ey, boys, stop askin' now. I've been talkin' too much already!"

"Hagrid," Harry started on the topic that was on his mind, "have you been in the office again – Dumbledore's office, I mean?"

Hagrid gave him a sad look and nodded. "Know what yeh mean, Harry. 's still sleeping. I'd hoped he'd wake up, too. Bu' till now – nothin'. He's even got some pillows under his head now. Looks as if he wan'ed ter go on sleepin' for a while." He drank a big mouthful of his tea. "He's deserved it, ain' he, ter take a bit of a rest!"

Harry saw the tears in Hagrid's eyes and for the first time in weeks he felt that there was someone who suffered the same way as he himself.

They heard hurried steps on the path outside. Then the door was pulled open, and Hermione came in pretty breathlessly and with shining eyes. "I thought I would find you here. Hello, Hagrid! Your house looks really nice again!"

"Si' down, Hermione, and have a cup o' tea."

She looked sceptically at the tar-like brewage in Ron's cup, in which cookie crumbs were floating around as well. But because she liked Hagrid so much she took her cup, thanked him and even sipped at it. "You never guess what Slughorn wanted!" she started.

"A – date?" said Ron.

She gave him a deathly glare. "He said he wanted to propose me for a scholarship! At the Academy of Padova, for the next year, right after graduation!"

"Hey, that's fantastic!" said Harry.

"Yes, it is! That's one of the oldest Wizarding Schools in Europe! Of course that means I have to work a lot to get it, besides everything else. I have to prepare an essay about the project I want to work on while I'm there. Oh, I haven't got the slightest idea about what – there are so many interesting topics!"

"But you won't forget that you have to prepare for the exams, too, will you?" said Ron teasingly.

Hermione sighed. "I wish I had the Time-Turner again, you remember, like back then?"

"Sure," said Harry and let his mind wander back in their third year when they had saved Sirius by employing the Time-Turner.

"Talking about time," said Hermione, "we have to go back to the castle for Harper's first lesson. I'm so curious!"

Running up the path to the school she added, "Oh, Harry, Slughorn told me to remind you of the party tonight. Eight o'clock in his office."

"Oh, no! I hoped he'd – forgotten it somehow."

"Honestly, you don't think he would forget he's invited the Chosen One," snorted Ron.

oooOOOooo

Professor Harper came into the room with resolute steps and turned full of verve towards the class, making her carelessly draped cloak flutter. That almost reminds me of her predecessor, thought Harry and grimaced a bit.

The fourteen students around him were as curiously as he was, waiting for what this new teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts would tell them. She glanced with cool eyes at the students that were facing her. "As Professor McGonagall has already told you, we will – due to the special situation – place emphasis on an unusual topic within the Defence Against the Dark Arts, which is incidentally my special subject, too: Magical Weapons." She paused and seemed to be content with the attention she'd attracted.

"Fighting with Magical Weapons," she continued, "aims at hurting the opponent severely or even killing him. It's mainly Dark Arts. Studying this topic is normally part of the advanced Auror training. An exception is made for you because of the current endangerment, so that I can teach you some basic skills this year which you might need some day."

When Harper stopped, Hermione put her hand up. Harper nodded to her.

"But there are Magical Weapons in White Magic, too?"

"Yes, there are, and their main purpose is to help you defend yourself against the Dark Weapons. And some surround the holder with a protection similar to a Patronus that you don't have to evoke but carry along already. But such a protection isn't as multifunctional as a Patronus. The main advantage, however, is that Magical Weapons usually are a lot smaller and less noticeable than a wand and can be used instead of it while fighting.

The producing of and the fighting with Magical Weapons is an ancient art which rightly has an ambivalent reputation. They might cause tremendous harm. The Ministry and the Wizengamot have to approve the studies of this art in each individual case. The applicant has to undergo a Legilimentation to prove his good intentions. He has to repeat this examination every now and then to assure that he didn't go astray in the meantime."

"And what if the applicant himself is a good Occlumens?" Hermione blurted out.

"Good question, Miss – Granger, I suppose," said Harper with a hesitation that was clearly pretended. "I see, you're thinking along. The applicant has to undergo the examination in a, let's say, unprotected state. There are means to make it impossible for him to use his ability of Occlumentation."

"How do you ensure that the Legilimens himself doesn't have bad intentions?" asked Harry.

Harper gave him a piercing glance. "In better times we can rely on the wisdom of the Wizengamot. In times like these, you're right about that, Mr Potter, nobody can guarantee for the integrity of anyone." Taking big steps she went back to her desk and sat down on its edge.

"Have you noticed that she knows our names?" said Hermione excitedly to Harry in a low voice.

"Legilimency! What did you expect?" whispered Harry back.

But Hermione shook her head and was close to replying something but then decided that it would be better to go on listening.

"In these lessons," Harper continued, "each student will learn to build a Magical Weapon for his own use. This art is always passed on verbally only, so you won't have a book to look things up. Therefore I urgently suggest you pay close attention." She didn't coincidentally look at Ron while saying these words.

"Maybe you're aware of the danger that lies in giving a part of yourself to an inanimate object. For that's the final aim of a Magical Weapon: it's a part of you – and you made it that way. You've chosen an object that has a certain meaning for you, and only you. With all your abilities you've made it to a magical object that only becomes a weapon in your hands. If other people get hold of it, it will be useless – in the best case. In the worst case it might be used against you."

That reminds me of a Horcrux, Harry thought. And he decided to pay very close attention. Hermione turned to him, and in her meaningful glance he saw that she thought exactly the same.

"I want to tell you one more thing before we start the lesson," said Harper, and this time the glance from her grey eyes definitely went towards Harry, who clearly recognized a derisive twinkle in them. "Some of you may have heard that I work as a Legilimens from time to time. But I can assure you that I do so only in certain cases – let's say when I get adequately paid for it. Thus you can safely look into my eyes."

oooOOOooo

Harry was standing in the common room at five to eight and was waiting for Hermione. Ron was sitting at one of the tables and listlessly browsing through a book about Quidditch. Harry had decided to use this party and the relaxed atmosphere to sound out Slughorn a bit about Horcruxes again. He wished he could finally get started and done with it, even more because Ron had been making scathing and – what he thought to be – humorous remarks about parties in general and the Slug Club in particular during the last fifteen minutes.

But Hermione let them wait mercilessly, and it took her until ten minutes past eight to enter the room in a neat cloak, all spruced up, with lip gloss and a distinct hint of perfume. This appearance put Ron over the edge. "Well, I'll go on writing to Fabienne," he said and stood up.

"This one is getting old, Ron," answered Hermione. "What about a walk with Luna?"

Harry sighed. "Let's go now! Otherwise we won't even get anything to eat!"

On the corridor Harry and Hermione could already hear the buzzing of voices in Slughorn's office, accompanied by the bright sounds of baroque music for strings.

At least no Christmas carols today, thought Harry. He entered Slughorn's office with mixed feelings, together with Hermione.

The office must again have been enlarged, by which means whatsoever. It was a lot roomier than the teachers' rooms used to be. Otherwise there could never have been all these people inside. Although – there was not much room for everyone. People were standing in small groups as close together as the glasses in their hands would allow. It wasn't easy to make one's way through the room without being blotted with all kinds of alcoholic drinks.

What were all these people doing here? And who were they? Of course Harry recognized some of them being his school mates, for example Blaise Zabini or Cormac McLaggen.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Harry asked Hermione at a low voice. "He wrote his final exams last year!"

Hermione gave him a reproachful look. "No, he didn't. Harry, don't you notice anything around you? The final exams last year didn't take place at all! What do you think is the reason for so many students being here right now? The last year's grade seven have to write their exams during the following two days!"

Just now a silver plate on legs – as it seemed – passed by. The little pastries on the plate looked slightly burned, and the parsley in between was definitely wilted. Harry felt frustrated and helped himself to an as pale as possible looking piece. "But the tables in the Great Hall – there were lots of empty places left!" he said.

"Yes, of course, the tables were enlarged," she answered looking sceptically at the ham pie in her hand. "Do you think he made them himself?"

Harry felt his optimism fade away. How could he talk to Slughorn in this crush, especially about Horcruxes? Maybe it would be better to try it in his office in a quiet moment? But somehow he was sure that Slughorn would get rid of him then. No, this familiar atmosphere of the party, where everybody was feeding his vanity, was the better choice. After all he couldn't make Slughorn drunk each time he wanted some information from him.

"Do you have any idea who all these people are? And what they are doing here? I mean, somehow we are under supervision, state of emergency so to say, aren't we?"

They were watching the hustle and bustle around them. In a corner some young people had made themselves comfortable on the various footstools and seat cushions, which were usually spread across the whole room. Harry thought to himself that they were looking dauntingly successful and self-confident with their well-fitting party clothes, with their expensive haircuts and the abundantly interspersed, tooth-twinkling laughter.

"They're almost always present. Alumni of Slughorn. Oh, and there is Rosemary Johnson, too. She got the same scholarship last year which I want to apply for! I must talk to her!" said Hermione excitedly and had already disappeared.

Eventually Harry spotted Slughorn, and his courage fell definitely. He stood amongst a group of elderly wizards and was apparently introducing to them the woman next to him: Hekate Harper. As far as Harry could recognize, she wasn't wearing frayed hems today but a black coat over a black dress and, probably to make something like a party outfit of it, she wore a dark blue, fluffy scarf around her neck, which would have matched Sybill Trelawney's style perfectly. At that moment Harry noticed that Trelawney was standing in this group, too, and was staring at Professor Harper through her reflecting eyeglass lenses.

Suddenly Harry asked himself with a grin how weird a meeting between a Seer and a Legilimens would be. Who would feel more penetrated?

Eventually he pulled himself together and squeezed his way through to Slughorn's group.

"… unfortunately everything is done so sloppy today!" said Slughorn, sounding pretty disgusted just then. He held a cheese skewer with a radish on top in the air, with the root still attached, and watched it accusingly.

"I think there was an incident in the kitchen last night," Harper remarked in her deep voice.  
"One of the house-elves had a fatal accident. I assume that this is the reason why they are a bit agitated today."

But now Slughorn had spotted Harry, and he started beaming. "Harry, my dear boy! Come and join us!" he shouted and waved with the radish. "Here are some people whom I would like you to meet!"

Hesitantly Harry approached the group. Trelawney was watching him banefully as always.

"You still remember Eldred Worple, I suppose. You met him at my Christmas party. And here are Ignatius Sparkle, a famous pyrowizard, and Theodorus Mortar, a colleague of mine, but a lot more successful than I ever was. It obviously pays off to be with a private enterprise than to choose teaching!"

Mortar, whose large hands were covered with deep chemical burns and discolourations, shook his pretty bald head. "No, no, Horace – I'd say you've made a very good name for yourself this way, too!" And then he turned to Harry with a friendly smile. "Well, I think I knew your grandfather, Alexander Potter. He _was_ your grandfather, wasn't he?"

Harry nodded.

"We worked together for some years. But you know, back then he got really wealthy very fast by –"

Suddenly Slughorn interrupted him a bit hastily. "Well, yes, yes, of course. And now, Harry, may I introduce you to your new teacher for Defence, Miss – no, I now have to say _Professor_ Hekate Harper! Hekate was an extremely gifted student of mine. A Ravenclaw through and through!"

Professor Harper greeted him with a cool gaze from her grey eyes. Having a closer look at her, her face appeared even younger, and the contrast to her white hair automatically had everybody's attention.

That's probably the reason why she doesn't have it dyed, thought Harry resentfully. "We've already met," he replied somewhat curtly.

"Indeed?"

"Yes, we have. I think Professor Harper would have had to subject me to a Legilimency by order of Scrimgeour, but in the end it didn't take place though."

"Tsk, tsk," Slughorn said indignantly. "Why does the Ministry always overreact? But you shouldn't grieve over that, Harry. I'm sure that you will find Hekate's lessons absolutely fascinating. You don't have the chance to meet experts very often that have concentrated in exploring Dementors."

"Of course I've read your books, Ms Harper," Worple now interjected. He seemed unusually pale, almost bloodless"But I'd really like to know better how you actually managed to stay close to a Dementor unharmed for such a long time!"

Normally Harry would have thought that very interesting, too, but today his brain was only set on Horcruxes. He had to talk to Slughorn alone for a while, though not too alone but still wrapped in the vibes of his party. But at the moment there was no way of getting him away from this group. So Harry obediently stayed a little longer and was listening to Professor Harper lecturing about advanced Occlumency. Reluctantly he had to admit that she wasn't completely unappealing to him. Her way of talking was pleasingly straight and without squiggles. Besides that, he liked her apparent lack of respect for dress codes. Absent-mindedly he watched the house-elves still balancing their collection of rather burnt pastries through the crowds and shivering inside, he wondered whether or not they had buried Kreacher yet. Then he pulled his thoughts away from Kreacher and the previous evening. Kreacher's painful death had shaken him to the core and had opened a door inside of him he had not even wanted to look through. Eventually he had enough of the fuss of the party and tried to find a way to clear off.

Harry squeezed through the crowds picking up snatches of excited conversations, from which, among other things, he learned that later in the evening a reading was planned – the well-known writer Queenie Stephens would read from her just finished opus _Dark Towers_ – but he didn't join any of the chats.

He realized that for most people here and especially for Slughorn this must be a successful party. Apart from the Horcruxes, he was having difficulties thinking of Dumbledore – was this really the right time to have parties? He saw Hermione bright-eyed, having boarded the circle of the successful and obviously enjoying herself tremendously.

Go on as usually, McGonagall had said. Dumbledore would have liked the party, thought Harry, and he remembered having seen all the books of Queenie Stephens on a shelf in his office.

Suddenly he found himself in front of Slughorn's desk. Next to it there was a cupboard full of wine bottles, and some of them were rather dusty. Evidently the experience of last springtime, when he had almost poisoned Ron with his oak-matured mead, hadn't taken away his appetite for drinks. Just when he started glancing at Slughorn's not less filled bookcase – he decided he might as well have a look around by himself – he heard Slughorn's voice behind him.

"Harry, you don't want to leave the party already, do you?" he asked menacing impishly.  
"You definitely shouldn't miss Queenie Stephens! I never before succeeded in inviting her because she is normally always completely booked out. I don't think I will be successful again. Actually I await her every minute."

"Professor, there's something else I wanted to ask you, too," Harry began, suddenly deciding he would just have to try it. "Well, last year you told something about – er – Horcruxes." It was totally clear to him that Slughorn had never talked about them and especially not to him, Harry. Promptly he could see the instantaneous disappearance of the beaming look as the Potions Master closed down. Like a slug drawing in its horns, thought Harry ironically.

"Please, it is really very important!" he continued hastily. "Just tell me in which books I can find some information about this topic."

"M'boy, this is nothing you will find in the books that you can look through here in Hogwarts," said Slughorn coolly. "By the way I haven't forgotten how you – let's say – obtained my memory concerning this matter by fraud. But under the circumstances," he continued with a sigh, "in view of all the terrible things that have happened I want to connive at this fact. And I would even help you if I could, Harry. But there are only very few books dealing with this topic, and as I told you before you won't find any of them here in Hogwarts or anywhere else where they might be easily accessible."

"If you could tell me just one book, that would help me a lot," urged Harry, noticing the change in Slughorn's mood, and he wanted to strike while the iron was hot.

Slughorn pursed his lips and watched him thoughtfully. "Well, first of all there is the ancient opus _De Caligine Mundi_ written by Salazar Slytherin himself. It only exists in very few copies, and I've never ever heard of someone who has really seen one of them." He paused. "Evidently Grindelwald must have had access to this book. He edited parts of it and added comments to it and published it under the title _Nightworlds_. This book is easier to get but I don't have it. But it would be a good source for this topic," he added hesitatingly, "if you really have to cope with such Dark Arts."

Harry nodded.

"It's really very unfortunate that the name of Slytherin is always being mentioned only in such a dark context. Salazar Slytherin not only stood for _De Caligine Mundi_, he was an ingenious wizard to whom we owe numerous other writings, too. It's not appropriate to reduce him to the topic of the Dark Arts, although it obviously fascinated him a lot, but that didn't automatically make him a Dark Magician."

Slughorn turned to his bookcase and took out a thick book, which Harry recognized immediately. It was _Nature's Nobility_. "Look here, I just want to show you how much – well, let's say nobility and genius come together in his dynasty. It's not a shame to call oneself a Slytherin, and this shouldn't be forgotten even or especially in these days!"

Harry knew exactly where Slughorn would open the book now, and so it was kind of a déjà-vu for him when he showed him the very page he had stared at stunned only a few days ago.

"Have a look yourself, he married a Norman princess, so to say, and their descendants and the descendants of her family became a famous dynasty here, after they had settled down in Great Britain. Lots of able and brilliant heads in the families of Peverell and Slytherin, even among the Gaunts." Slughorn looked up smilingly. "How amusing! I showed this book, yes, even this very section to your mother a long time ago! That was – let me think – at a Christmas party many years ago. She couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen years then. After all her snappish answers she used to give me, I think I wanted to show her what the house of Slytherin really can be proud of."

Slughorn's look went somewhere over Harry's head becoming almost lyrical for a moment. "Oh, well, Lily Evans! She was a beauty, but what is more important, she really was – well, _bright_. Not only in her head, Harry. She had something so cheerful and clear on her, everybody around her could feel that." Slughorn now watched Harry so unhappily that with his moustache he looked like a sad walrus. "What a pity, what a horrible, everlasting _shame_ that she had to die in this way!"

He sighed while thoughts were spinning around in Harry's head. It had been _him_, Slughorn – _Slughorn_ had given her the clue. Suddenly he knew that his mother had gotten all the answers to the questions she might have asked herself for several years then unwittingly from Slughorn during that conversation.

Slughorn thoughtfully ran his hand over the heavy book he had closed again. "This book should have been reprinted with amendments a long time ago," he said regretfully. "But this case has met its fate, too. Another student of mine, a real talent in this field, had already begun with it while still here in Hogwarts. But listen, you might even know his name, Regulus Black. He was the younger brother of Sirius Black. He was murdered, too, after his – well, somewhat unfortunate excursion into the world of extremism. Well, and since then I haven't heard of anybody working on this project." He carefully put the book back in the narrow gap in the bookcase.

"Yes, Harry, your mother, your father, Regulus, Sirius, Dumbledore – all ravened by the horrors of these times! Betrayal, murder – it's unspeakable." With a sigh he turned to the party goings around them and continued seemingly incoherently. "Love is a terrible power. It makes us to murderers and traitors. It plays an important role in all big crimes. It's like a huge maelstrom that pulls everything along that gets too close to it. You have no idea, Harry, what love can cause in a – well, let me say _brooding_ character. An isolated character, without the talent to make friends, who's always ruminating about his desire, his yearning, the object of his dreams –"

"But I thought Voldemort couldn't feel love," Harry dared to object.

"What? Oh yes. No, I wasn't talking about – er – Voldemort," said Slughorn continuing hastily. "Anyway, these were the reasons why I never engaged in this power but always stayed nicely aside as an observer."

Just now a square-built, dark-haired witch with black-framed, notedly ugly glasses entered the room, and Slughorn jumped up and hurried to her with his arms wide open. "Queenie, my dear, finally! We're all expecting you longingly!" And taking her by her arm he escorted her into the room.

Harry took his chance and got out unseen, closely followed by Hermione, who caught up with him in the corridor.

"Just wait, Harry! Anything new?"

"We need _Nightworlds_ by Grindelwald. And what about you? Don't you want to listen to the reading?"

"I don't go for lurid tales," said Hermione. "Oh, gosh, is there nothing but _Nightworlds_? We'll never get that book!"

Harry nodded cheerlessly. They arrived at the portrait. "Vibrissae trimmer," he said and paused then. "Er – can that be true, or is it one of Ron's jokes again?"

But the Fat Lady swung open with a grim look on her face.

"Someone has complained about the passwords again," explained Hermione climbing through the hole into the common room. "I think it's her way to take revenge."

They found Ron sleeping in an armchair in front of the fireplace. Besides him there were only a few fifth-grades sitting at a table in the corner engrossed in a discussion about examination questions. Harry shook Ron. "Wake up!"

"Do you think he's faded –?"

But Ron moved and got up yawning. "Oh, back again already? Did he run out of quail eggs, or what?"

"Stop that nonsense. The food was terrible, so you didn't miss anything."

"Well, you both don't look that easy and party-like!" he noticed cheery seeing their crestfallen faces. "No news?"

"Yes, we've got news. We only need Grindelwald's book _Nightworlds_, and then we can read everything about Horcruxes," grumbled Harry.

"The book isn't that easy to get though," explained Hermione.

"But yes, it is," said Ron and a tremendous grin started to beam on his face. "It's that very book, _Nightworlds_, yes, indeed. It's in Mrs Black's glass cabinet! Gee, finally I can remember what happened! I saw the book up in the cabinet and took a look inside – awful pictures by the way. I had just opened the chapter with the Horcruxes and wanted to call Hermy to show it to her. But then this stupid musical box fell down and began to play. And then," he closed confusedly, "I can't remember anything else!"

Harry and Hermione had listened breathlessly. Now they stared at each other and then fell into each others arms.

"Wow, that's unbelievable!"

"Ron, you're just – crazy!"

"Come on, where is the portkey?"

"Oh, does it work here inside the castle?"

"Let's give it a try!"

"Shall we go all together?"

"No, that's not really reasonable. Somebody should hold the fort."

"I'll stay voluntarily!" said Ron generously. "A little nap at the fireplace –"

"But don't forget to take care of the portkey!"

"Sure!"


	10. Snape Upset

**Chapter**** Ten:**

**Snape Upset**

_**(Translation by Coombs - thank you so much!)**_

Snape wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with a sleeve of his robe. Drudgingly he got up from the floor where he had been kneeling in front of the toilet bowl for the past ten minutes. He was fairly sure that the figures on the friezes at the walls had paused their usual obscene activities to sneeringly watch him puking his guts up. With groggy feet he hurried to the laboratory's window and opened it with a jerk. A strong wind was always blowing up here, which now swept his sweat-soaked hair out of his face with a sudden gust. He inhaled the cold air with deep breaths.

Like most of the time, he could not see the lower located parts of the fortress today but was looking down onto a gleaming mist, a turret or a gable towering out of it here and there. But he fancied he was hearing the faint rush of the surf in the deep and the cry of a seabird every now and then.

How quiet it was here – particularly when you were accustomed to a place like Hogwarts! Anyhow, the guests Lord Voldemort had spoken of hadn't arrived yet. Sometimes he wondered if the Dark Lord and he were the only residents of this apparently huge facility – apart from the mute dead down in the moats and the mute house-elves in the corridors. But he was equally sure that the remaining Death Eaters had returned to their homes and that all three of the Malfoys were somewhere in here. Not dead – this was also something he knew for sure: Voldemort had not shown them this mercy yet. And Draco's death would in no case have remained without consequences for him. Automatically he rubbed his right wrist which was still hurting.

But Snape had not even tried to find them. Space and time were bizarre in Lord Voldemort's fortress. Barely once he found his laboratory in the same place, mostly he couldn't arrive there at all without letting one of the mute house-elves guide him there. Only in the past few days it seemed to be located permanently next to his private chambers.

While the laboratory itself always stayed unchanged the way he had left it, odd things happened in the rooms Voldemort had allocated to him to live in. At night in dimly moonlight he had seen how the floor's countless little tesseras had started moving and rearranging themselves over and over again in mind-confusing swirls. After having watched it for a while it inevitably appeared to him as if they were forming pictures which he knew and which reminded him of something but just when he was about to remember they resolved into mazy patterns again. Finally he ignored the floor, although – as he realised – he could even hear it: a smooth, eerie, grinding sound, when the tesseras were rearranging, which sometimes grew to almost a screech. But he remained resting with his eyes closed.

And even time seemed to behave oddly on some days, he didn't even know exactly for how long he's already been here. An afternoon, a night stretched endlessly while some other time half a day seemed just to slip him. Whenever the weather allowed it he went by the phases of moon, otherwise he tried not to concern himself with that issue.

There were quite a few questions he did not ask. About his house in Spinner's End, for example, or Wormtail's whereabouts. And of course what Voldemort actually wanted from him. Surely, he was supposed to make a lot of potions which besides his studies of various books quite filled his days. But couldn't Voldemort have done this himself? What did he want from him, Severus Snape?

He did not cherish any illusions: he was a prisoner. Definitely a privileged prisoner, but nevertheless a prisoner.

A few times he had managed to find the way to the tower gallery around the outer walls. Up there was the only place in this fortress where he could really ease. Here he could feel the pristine sea breeze in his face and with a bit of luck even taste on his lips the salt of the spume foaming deep down. And he could see the ocean albeit the horizon was missing due to gleaming mist.

But when he turned his head only a little, ripples of putrid stench rising from the moats along the inside wall hit him, and the last time he'd been standing there he had discovered black shadows skittering between the clouds high above him.

For now it was better not to think about the stench and its origin or about flittering shadows. He deeply inhaled the fresh air once again, then he turned away and with his usual determined strides went to a shelf from which he took down a small glass bottle containing red-green capsules. He uncorked it with a well-practiced grip, let two capsules slip in his hand and swallowed them.

While he was passing by his work space with cauldrons and fireplaces, bottles and glass flasks on the way to his table he wondered, with an ironic smile, if Dumbledore had known that he'd been suffering from a weak stomach all those years and that the severe discipline in Occlumency demanded by his undercover missions took its fierce toll. When he sat down at the table in front of the open book his thoughts wandered away for another moment.

Here in the Golden Fortress he had finally found what he'd been looking for his entire life: an outstanding position where he was able to prove what he was really made of. He had risen to a prince of the Death Eaters, he thought, smirking. For years he had watched others who weren't as talented and as capable as he was receiving fame and positions that rightfully should have been his. Fools like Lockhart or Quirrell. People who were more charming than he was, who sold themselves better than he did.

All this had filled him with bitterness more and more. He had found only little satisfaction in bullying students. What a sheer waste to teach little fools elementary terms in potion-making, constantly having to listen to their brash remarks! Their impudence, their dullness, their unbearable indifference which he was forced to spend his life with, he who was destined to achieve greater things in life and had known that since childhood! And nevertheless, all his outstanding magical skills hadn't helped him to work and research as valued and respected member among his colleagues. No, even there he had always been the misfit, the sulky, bad-tempered, strange Professor Snape.

And now – as an irony of fate – he had everything he wanted. The other Death Eaters might possibly not like him and be jealous of his special position but at least they feared him. He had access to books and means he had been dreaming of for his whole life and which would have stayed nothing but a dream at Hogwarts. He would help a ruthless Dark Wizard to regain dominion and a little of this dominion would rub off on him – if only for a short while, as he knew. But nevertheless he, Prince of the Death Eaters, regularly knelt in front of a toilet bowl choking the disgust out of his body.

Smiling grimly he turned back to the book and opened the pages about Inferi. He had made some improvement of the potion described here to vivify those bodies. The problem was that he needed a number of fresh ingredients he could not find here.

oooOooo

When the door was opened some time later, he turned around, glad that the vacant-faced house-elf who entered found him no longer on the floor. The fact that they never knocked confirmed his assumption that he was rather a prisoner than a guest.

The house-elf indicated him to come with him. Snape obeyed and followed him, down many stairs and along many corridors. Although he knew that memorising his surroundings wouldn't help his orientation at all, out of habit he had never taken off his attention. That's why he recognised the steps leading to Voldemort's mysterious museum, and he followed the elf upstairs with mingled feelings.

He entered through a narrow door and stood in the dark. At least it seemed so until his eyes grew accustomed to the sudden darkness. He could distinguish numerous spots of dim light around him that proved to be exhibits of Voldemort's showroom. Many of them rested on black velvet under glass. But many of them were also arranged in complete scenes forming dioramas of horror. Snape cautiously went through the vast room to the darker shadow at its end where he assumed Voldemort was waiting.

"Now Severus, haven't I promised you to show you my collections one day?" he greeted him. "As you can see, I've let emulate some of my favorite scenes. Goblin work by the way. Skilful creatures. Whenever you look for the special finishing touch on an artifact you should refer to Goblin artisans. You won't find any better workings."

Snape, who had not missed the oppressively naturalistic design of some of the figures in the glass cases, nodded.

"But we are not here to talk about craftwork although it certainly is an amusing subject. No, my prince and professor, in fact I have called you to finally entrust you with the very task that you must accomplish. I assume that you are still delved into the writings of my much valued ancestor Salazar. As it happens, therein you will find everything that you need for your task."

Voldemort paused, tipped his wand at the glass wall of the nearest showcase and when it suddenly disappeared reached for a figure, scrutinisingly running his hand over its bare and very white arm. "Sometimes these materials tend to decay from the inside or to become moss-grown," he explained looking at his fingers. "I thought I had seen a treasonable gleam but everything is all right. You are as perfect as ever my beauty," he said letting the glass wall reappear. "Recurring to the subject, Severus – I will call together the members of the union to witness the Great Ritual."

Snape could feel his stomach tumble. "The Great Ritual?" he asked, his mouth getting dry.

"Indeed, and this time _you_ shall be master of ceremonies. This will make it look more solemn and more spectacular than if I'd do it myself, don't you think?"

"I thought you were done with this work," said Snape.

"Severus, you are disappointing me! We both know that one of my items has been destroyed. Now I have the power and the opportunity to replace it. And you as master of ceremonies will make this ceremony a crowning event for all members of our union."

"As you please, my Lord –"

"Indeed," said Voldemort in a harsh tone. "I want you to brew the Twye Potion as quickly as possible."

"If my memory does not deceive me, I need the Cracked Fire Boletus or Devil's Foot for the Twye Potion – a fungus that can only be harvested freshly in a forest."

"Whatever you need – go, collect it, but soon. I want to carry out this event as soon as possible."

"But I will need one week at least, my Lord. The fungus must be gathered during several days in a certain phase of the moon."

"You have _one_ week, Severus," said Voldemort cold. "I hope we are in the right phase of the moon."

"It's full moon in eight days," said Snape. "The time could not be better."

"Good. So you only need the appropriate forest, don't you?"

"Naturally I know of suitable places in the forest around Hogwarts," Snape said slowly. "But I don't know if going there would be wise. I'm probably wanted and the school's environment will be watched closely."

"I absolutely trust in your ability to duck and to merge into your environment," said Voldemort. "But you ought to hurry and not lose time. I want to position Dementors around Hogwarts." Voldemort turned around and opened a door that had been behind him in the wall and that Snape hadn't noticed before. It was so low that he had to stoop to go through. "Follow me."

With bent head Snape entered a brighter, smaller chamber that unlike the other room virtually appeared serene. There were showcases too, but not many and their content was rather ordinary. Snape saw a few toys spread on black velvet looking oddly lost in this surrounding: a few pieces of jewellery, a brooch with garnet roses, a necklace with a pendant shaped like a Golden Snitch, several simple gold rings, and most unusually a pair of heavy, black tarnished manacles.

Voldemort passed by those show cases and stopped in front of the last one, which contained a small golden goblet. Seizing its finely wrought handle he took it out and held it up in front of Snape's eyes. "Do you recognise this?"

Snape took the goblet and carefully turned it in his fingers. On one side, there was an engraving showing a badger. Snape audibly sucked in the air. "Hufflepuff!" he said with amazement.

Voldemort laughed. "Even the name sounds like the stutter of a child, doesn't it? Poor Hufflepuff! Who wants to be famous for their studiousness! But it is the original piece of the honourable founder herself. I've acquired it many years ago." Voldemort took the goblet and put it back into its glassy prison. Then he took the necklace with the pendant out of the show case containing the jewellery. "This is the item. I'm anxious to see if you can guess what it is."

Snape looked closely at the pendant. "A Golden Snitch stylised as a lion's head – not very aesthetic in my opinion by the way – now if the badger is a sign of Hufflepuff then the lion is probably a sign of Gryffindor, isn't it?"

Voldemort laughed again. "My dear Severus, you ought to pay more respect to time-honoured heirlooms. But you are right with your assumption. This small lion's head – as I could find out it became a snitch much later by the way, its wings date back to the 15th century – this lion's head pendant belonged to Godric Gryffindor. I could verify that in hard detail work. As a student I even published an attention receiving article in _The Art Of Goldsmithing And Craftwork_. Gryffindor gave it as a present to his wife, Julianna of course, the wife who gave birth to his descendants. Not Selena."

"And now it is here –"

"Yes, my friend, now it is here. After having studied it closely I decided that it was rather entitled to me than to the heirs who had been passing it on from generation to generation."

Snape gave the necklace back to Voldemort knowing for sure that for this object too someone had had to die. Voldemort put the piece of jewellery back into its velvet nest. "Here are some treasures to look at although I must bring together a few objects from the places where I retrieved them. I will show them to you some other time when my collection is complete again. Not today for lack of time, because I want you to have a look at the location where the ceremony will take place."

"The cave?" Snape asked, feeling his heart beating faster.

"Of course not, Snape! I heard that in former days you used to call it _Temple Of The Death Eaters_. But these times are over now. No, now there is the Golden Fortress, and I have rooms that are more adequate than that cave. You've already seen the snake basin."

Snape followed Voldemort who was crossing the showrooms with long steps and then going down the stairs. Stairs, stairs, thought Snape incoherently. Up the stairs, down the stairs all the time.

The hall with the mirror walls looked different in the dim daylight falling through the grey, lead bordered cupola windows, without the glistening light of the chandelier, totally different than in the night when Draco Malfoy had lost his hand. The big dusky room seemed lurking. The snake basin having emerged from the black stone of the floor still stood in the centre of the circle.

Voldemort hurried with reverberating steps to the basin and stopped. Snape followed him more slowly, hesitating. This basin, he thought, my way always ends here in front of this black altar.

"We will have to expand this room a little more, I fear," said Voldemort looking around critically. "Look around, Severus, and tell me how we can design it worthily. You as master of ceremonies shall have the final say."

"My Lord, there's something else. The ritual text recommends – as far as I can remember – a black rooster or a lamb for the Detaching Charm. What do you want me to provide?"

Voldemort glanced at him with a pensive look, then he smiled."I think we will resort to an exemplar of the same species that we used for the last times, Severus. You can leave that to me."

"Yes, my Lord" said Snape quietly.

"And before you set out on your journey, remember to make enough of the Inferi Potion. Just leave it in your laboratory, I will find it."

Snape laid his hands on the border of the slightly curved basin which felt as warm as if it was alive. The memory of that other night which now was almost seventeen years ago overwhelmed him with such power that he hardly noticed Voldemort leaving the room and abandoning him.

oooOooo

At that time Snape had been part of the whole thing for a year and a half. In May he had done his Master an important service, thereby erasing the flaw of failing as which he considered Dumbledore's refusal to employ him as a teacher. Voldemort had so much wanted Snape to be at Hogwarts. But what Snape had brought him instead had compensated for this disgrace.

And now on one of those last November nights he stood in a wide circle together with the other Death Eaters around the dark water in the cave, in the centre of which a small island was brightly-lit like a stage. Due to a charm the Death Eaters could watch the happenings on the island closely, despite of the distance. That's where the snake basin had stood back then.

There was dead silence in the cave although there were about three hundred people, Snape estimated. All around, he could see masked faces with the flickering light adding an odd ferocity to them. The hoods made the people even more irrecognizable, but Snape knew the fanatic dark eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange who was standing next to her husband Rodolphus. Next to the two of them he saw Lucius Malfoy. He could also surmise the old Death Eaters, Voldemort's followers since the earliest days: Nott, Mulciber, Dolohov, Macnair.

Next to him stood Regulus Black, only just eighteen years old and member of the Death Eaters since Halloween, but it was hard to say what was more unbearable: his haunting of eagerness or his narcissism. Even under the hood Snape could almost distinguish his accurately dressed hair, and the scent of expensive aftershave that surrounded him seemed extraordinarily farcical in this environment. Snape didn't give a damn about the fact that Black, whom he had known since Hogwarts, had thrown him only a frowning look.

For the second time he was here at this place that the Death Eaters called _The_ _Temple_ when they, rarely enough, talked about it at all. The first time he had received the Dark Mark. He did not know exactly what was awaiting them today, but he could feel the immense anticipation in the air, the drudgingly suppressed restlessness of the elder Death Eaters throwing side glances at each other. He had picked up the words 'Great Ritual' but didn't know what to think about it although he believed that he had heard this name before in connection with a method of Dark Art creating a Horcrux. But this couldn't be what was at issue here because as far as he knew Horcruxes hadn't been made anymore since the Middle Ages.

At last Voldemort appeared on the island. He stopped next to the black basin but it seemed to all of them as if his strangely distorted face with those gleaming red eyes was floating directly in front of them. "My Death Eaters! Welcome!" his voice filled the cave. "I have summoned you to witness the Great Ritual which will strengthen my power and will make your Master finally invulnerable." His words reverberated from the walls which formed a cupola with its upper part hidden in the dark over the silent crowd.

"This evidence will encourage you and consolidate your fellowship! But let me first introduce to you our special guest honouring us with her presence tonight and known to many of you."

Out of nowhere a strange and terrifying threesome appeared: two huge, grey-black boarhounds flanking a slight woman whom not few of them recognised surprised as Benson, Voldemort's housekeeper for many years. No sooner had they touched the ground than the two dogs jumped and put their forepaws on the woman's shoulders. She was staggering under the sudden weight. Her face was a mask of terror but Voldemort didn't seem to notice it when he turned to her speaking in a solemn tone.

"Here in this cave our lives have been bound together. Back then we were no more than two orphans from the same orphanage," he said. "Here you have become my first servant and you have remained my most faithful one. You have taken care of me – yes, I will put it this way: taken care of me like a mother and you have done all the small things for me that needed to be done in order to live a regular and comfortable life. And now at the end of your life you stand here again, Amy Benson – ready to do your Master one last important service. But before you can do that something else has to happen. For all those years you have kept something for me – and there was no other place where it could have been kept safer or more properly. You, keeper of my treasure, couldn't have revealed it even if you had wanted to."

On hearing those words Snape understood that Voldemort had actually dared to use the _Hortus-Conlusus_-Charm on Amy Benson. For a long time, he had been wondering why Benson, a Muggle woman, had always been so loyal to him. Shivering, he looked at the skinny woman aged before her time who stood trembling between the two dogs. He anticipated what had to come next because there was only one way to open the _Hortus Conclusus_ – the 'Locked Garden'.

Voldemort seemed to feel sorry for her but his eyes remained cold and gleamed greedily when he continued to speak. "Unfortunately even for me, the real owner of your treasure, it is not quite easy to regain it. Tell me, Amy, here at the end of your life, tell me what you fear most. Tell me honestly for it's going to be easier."

But Benson wasn't able to speak. Snape saw her try it but she couldn't say a word. The two dogs still had their forepaws on her shoulders and out of their throat sounded a low, threatening snarl, only too close to Benson's neck. Their breath must streak the woman's face and beneath the grey-black, smooth fur he could see the hardly downed muscles quiver – the beasts were ready to lunge out on their prey at the first sign of permission.

Voldemort waited for her answer knowing that it would not come. Finally he said sounding like a disappointed teacher, "It is a great pity that you don't answer, Amy. But I assume that the word you cannot say is _Hekate_. Your daughter's name. It is her you fear for. That something might happen to her worries you the most. That's what you think." He went towards her until he stood in front of her and looked right into her eyes. One of the dogs barked and she almost sank to the ground.

No sound at all could be heard in the cave, the Death Eaters watched the scene petrified.

"Amy, Amy! You are mistaken. But fortunately I know your biggest fear better than you." And smiling wildly he bent to her and said cheerfully as if this was nothing but a game, "It's the dogs, isn't it? The dogs! And that is good so we can leave little Hekate out of it! I wouldn't have liked to harm her!" He straightened up again and turned to the wide, mute circle of masked people. "The spell that turned Amy Benson into the best keeper of my treasure can only be broken when she faces her biggest fear. And Raggedy-Amy the little orphan from London has always feared big dogs. She had nightmares from which she always awoke screaming! As I know this has never changed up to the present day."

Full of verve he turned back to the woman who had sunk down with the dogs standing above her, their ears flattened and their teeth bared. "Stand up, Amy."

She obeyed, quivering, but it cost her the last bit of her strength. Snape could see cold sweat running down her temples and her legs buckling under her. Then Voldemort moved his hand a tiny bit, hardly becking his fingers and the dogs lunged out.

Snape did not look away and minutes later he could see Voldemort bending over his still living victim, ripping off the golden item that had suddenly appeared on Benson's throat and putting it into his pocket. This must be of great importance to him, he thought, if he hides it away like that.

Next to him Regulus Black suddenly sank down. He lay on the ground, his whole body shivering, his face distorted, his eyes bulging and scarcely audible whining sounds escaping his throat. Snape grabbed his arm and pulled him up to his feet. "Pull yourself together," he hissed rudely. "You must keep up a little longer, Death Eater!" The aftershave's scent had mixed with the stench of fear and Snape let go of him disgustedly.

After the _Hortus Conclusus_ had been broken the real ritual began. Amy Benson's last service for her master consisted in giving her blood for the Horcrux which Voldemort made that night. Snape had read once about this ritual and it said something about the blood of a black pup, a rooster or a lamb. But Voldemort used the blood of his eldest servant to detach the piece of his soul that he wanted to secure. At last Snape saw the blood seemingly merge into the silver blade of the knife – a knife with a handle forming an eagle that he had seen years ago in the Hogwarts' trophy room.

By the time Voldemort had finally ended the ceremony Regulus had sunk sidewards a few times, every time angrily hissed at by his neighbour until Snape had finally kept him gripped.

After that night Regulus Black had lived for fourteen more days.

oooOooo

Shuddering Snape returned back to present. His hands still lay on the black border of the basin. In his ears Voldemort's words resounded, "Kill Regulus Black!" But these words had only been spoken in the third night that he had spent in this cave – and he could not face this memory today. Hastily he hurried out of the hall hoping to be awaited outside by a house-elf who would guide him to his laboratory. This hope wasn't dashed.

In addition and without being asked for it, the house-elf brought him a pot of tea and some sandwiches. Snape was always grateful for Japanese tea, but he ignored the sandwiches. He was glad that his mission allowed him to leave the Fortress for some days – although he knew that he was going to be observed. But before he could leave he needed to settle a few things.

At first he had to make the potion that Voldemort needed for his sleeping army. Making a store for a week would take some time. The laboratory was drenched in vapours when the two cauldrons were finally filled. The smell of the potion wasn't even unpleasing but made it hard for a living human to breathe freely.

Snape opened the window once more and stood still holding the window handle, his head resting against his forearm. Outside, a silent dawn had closed in. He shut his eyes. The sleeve of his robe had slipped back baring a red scar which ran around his right wrist like a bracelet. After a while he went back to his desk and warily turned a few pages of the precious book until he found the paragraph about making the Twye Potion. He took a few notes on a piece of parchment in his minuscule handwriting, then looked up again. Finally, he had to arrange a few private things.

For a moment he hesitated, then he realised that there was no possibility of making sure he was not being observed. So he touched his wand to his temple and withdrew one, two gleaming threads of memory filling them into a pot whose bottom was covered with a fine, white powder. When the threads of memory touched it they convolved quickly into tiny pellets.

Snape crumpled up the little bag from which he had taken the powder and smiled sourly. It was very satisfying to see his formula working so well. But on the other hand it was tedious too. From the shelf next to the window he took down the small glass bottle containing those red-green capsules, opened it and again let some capsules slip in his hand. He put the red-green ones back into the bottle so that finally only three capsules lay in his palm. Those were single-coloured, two red, one green. Skilfully he cracked two of them in two halves, then using tweezers he took the gleaming pellets out of the powder and put them carefully into the halves of the capsule, one by one. After that he put the capsules back together and let them slip into the glass bottle. Among the red-green capsules the single-coloured ones did not attract any attention, as he had intended. He didn't want to leave crystal flacons containing his memories standing around in his laboratory. And he didn't want to take them with him in his head either.

He was about to put the small bottle into the pocket of his robe but paused for a moment and hesitated. There was another memory he probably should secure. He didn't think of it very often as he allowed his thoughts to wander back to the past rarely enough. But now he searched it out as though to test it. While he slowly cleaned up, his thoughts wandered back to that winter's afternoon and let the scene play in the mind's eye as if he were an uninvolved observer.

oooOooo

It is winter, more precisely the last day before Christmas holidays. This year they are really lucky: It is so freezing cold that the lake is covered with a thick layer of ice. Numerous students are cavorting on the ice wearing skates. Under low, snow-laden clouds twittering, cheerful voices fill the air. Sparks are dancing over the ice-skaters' heads, colourful streamers and non-bursting bubbles – produced by jaunty young wizards looking forward to their holidays. A fourth-year has his ice-skates tied to his hands and skates in a handstand until he crushes into a group causing a kerfuffle.

With its black, leafless trees the lakeside stands rigidly and darkly around the frozen surface and only few strollers are on the snow crusted path. There is a boy with way too long, lank black hair morosely following the path. He is about fourteen years old and he hates ice-skating, most of all because he can't do it himself. He pretends not to hear the cheery voices – and the occasional mockery – of his schoolmates, and he is quite good at it. He even ignores the snowball flying towards him out of nowhere and hitting him hard on the head. But in fact he is watching the ice-skaters closely, first and foremost a girl wearing a knitted cap on her hair that is so red it seems to shine through the dull air. At least that's how it appears to him. He can spot her instantly in the crowd, he believes to hear her voice out of all other voices. In the past three years he had learned to watch her. Lily Evans skates with two other girls over the frozen surface, and the boy's dark eyes follow her and lose sight of her every time she disappears behind the lake's curve.

Skating quite in the middle of the frozen surface are the usual show-offs, Potter of course and Black, trying to outgun each other by turning niftily whenever girls are near them. Snape, the boy, purses his lips scornfully. Scowling he eventually stops under the trees, his hands deeply in the pockets of his grubby robe that is actually too sheer. He stands in a small bay where all kinds of frozen water plants tower out of the lake. Quite a bad place for ice-skating. Suddenly he is startled by one of the skaters coming into the bay.

It's the girl with the knitted cap whom he had been watching the whole time. She is quickly skating towards him and he figures that she is going to break in on the thin ice around the stipes. Instead she jumps easily to the bank and stops in front of him. She is a bit taller than him but he has known that for ages. After all they see each other every day in class. She is short of breath because of the skating and her nose and cheeks are reddened by the cold. Her mouth always ready to laugh is now smiling too. "Hello, Severus," she says and then bends over to him.

He sees the countless slight freckles on her face turning the white skin into something exotic, something exquisite. She kisses him touching him with nothing else than her lips. He is petrified, he feels her mouth's soft coolness, unable to move until she lets go of him. She has blushed and isn't smiling anymore.

"There's snow on your head," she says in a low voice and strokes his hair shyly. He sees snowflakes falling down. Suddenly she takes one of his hands which are hanging down uselessly, presses it and hurries back onto the frozen surface. Before plunging in the crowd on the lake she turns back once more.

Finally he can move again to see what she had given him. He has to take a closer look to finally recognise what it is. A piece of wood? Then he realises: It is one half of a fruit of the amulet tree. He runs his fingers over the spiky edge. He closes his hand holding the amulet. Then he sets forth around the lake. Some time later it starts to snow. While students leave the lake for dinner and miscellaneous Christmas parties – he knows Lily is invited to Slughorn's party – he walks through the night's snow flurry like in trance.

oooOooo

Snape, the grown-up Snape, put the cauldron he had just cleaned back into the cabinet warily, then he touched the tip of his wand to his temple withdrawing another thread of memory and started to fill it into the last single-coloured capsule like the others before.

His movements were less smooth than usual, he was asleep at the switch. He was caught in his memory of the time after that winter's day, the days he had spent waiting for a word, a gesture from Lily following what had happened that afternoon – days that turned into weeks and finally into months. On the following day the winter holidays had started and Lily had departed for home before he could have met her again. From those holidays she had returned completely changed. Still she had been sitting next to him in Potions class and she had smiled at him every once in a while but she had not made any attempts to tie in with that afternoon. Quite the contrary she had stayed away from him and that had hurt him so much. A few times he had thought of this kiss being some sort of stupid bet among the girls.

But there had been this amulet which he had burrowed in the depths of his trunk after having carried it with him for weeks. When summer had started he had decided to ignore her and had concentrated more on his schoolwork and his own projects.

After that he had spoken to Lily Evans privately only once more – and even then they had not really been alone.

Snape put the secured bottle and a few little bowls into his pocket, closed the big book carefully and stored it in a glass cabinet. Then he put on his travelling cloak and went out. He closed the laboratory's door behind him and le the mute house-elf he met on the corridor lead him out of the fortress.

oooOooo

Aloft in another room Voldemort saw the light go out in the laboratory and turned to the small man leaning frightened against the wall.

"He is leaving! Follow him!" he said in an icy voice.


	11. Nestlings and Digging Sluffers

**Chapter Eleven:**

**Nestlings and Digging Sluffers**

Translated by annebanane and Coombs

They felt as if they were falling – and then they crashed hard onto the the floor. Where they had touched the portkey feather, their fingers burned a little. The feather itself was gone. Darkness surrounded them, and for a horrifying moment they wondered where they had landed. Harry felt her hair touching his arm, it felt soft and vulnerable like a small animal, and Harry grinned into the dark about this thought. Hermione had meanwhile long gotten up.

"We are at Grimmauld Place. Right at your desk. We're lucky!" she whispered.

Harry's eyes had gotten used to the darkness, too, and he recognized the shape of his new drawing room

"Come on, we should hurry up. I really don't want to be get caught here!" Hermione dragged him to his feet, then they tiptoed upstairs to Mrs Black's former room. The house was quiet, but they supposed that at least the kitchen downstairs was occupied.

The dark room with its even darker shadows in the corners appeared eerie. Harry and Hermione hesitated a little on the threshold, both remembering Ron and how they had found him lying on the floor with the evil musical box beside him.

"_Lumos_!" said Hermione determinedly. The light of her wand overcame the shadows. She went to the glass cabinet and opened it carefully. "You watch out! If this musical box falls down or plays even the slightest tune, you hit it shut immediately!"

After these words she stretched and looked at the five or six books sitting on the topmost shelf. "Here it is!" Somewhat awestruck she took hold of a book covered with scarab blue brocade. The title _Nightworlds _was printed in silver letters on the spine and the front cover.

Harry was still watching the musical box, but it kept perfectly silent. "Let's get out of here," he said. A book written by a dark magician couldn't strike him with awe. She handed Harry the book and carefully closed the doors again. Then they silently went downstairs again.

"I'd really like to know who is downstairs. And whether they notice us. Remember, they claim that this house is so well protected," said Harry.

"I don't know. Do you really want to risk that trouble? They certainly want to know why we're here."

"I took the Invisibility Cloak along. Come on!"

They pulled the Invisibility Cloak over their heads. Being two, it was really cramped under it. They carefully tiptoed downstairs. In front of the kitchen door they stopped and eavesdropped to catch the muttering that came from inside.

"Shit, I left the Extendable Ears upstairs! They would be perfect now," whispered Harry.

"If we eavesdrop directly at the door, it'll be okay," said Hermione and pressed her ear at the door. She was right. When Harry followed her example, he surprisingly heard Lupin's voice.

"… both of them have to be – gone, Dumbledore and Snape! They were the main keepers of the Defensive Shield Charms. Minerva doesn't know how long they can still hold them up!"

"What's _he_ doing here? I thought he is in Hogsmeade?" asked Hermione.

"Quiet!" hissed Harry.

"… what about Slughorn? And this new Harper? She must be quite capable from what I've heard." That was Moody's voive.

"Oh, no!" whispered Hermione wanting to back off. "He can also see us through the door!"

But Harry held her arm tight. "That a risk we have to take," he whispered back. "I want to listen to them now!"

"Slughorn is working hard on it," answered Lupin right now. "But he has to deal with new inventions, he told me. Snape always liked to experiment, even as a student. Slughorn hasn't got a clue. And as for Harper – I think, Minerva wants to get to know her better before she lets her get involved in such things."

Behind the door everybody fell silent. Then another well-known voice could be heard: "What about the gravedigger poison? Did Hagrid get any?"

"That's Fred!" whispered Hermione in surprise.

"Because we're ready. The cartridges are all prepared."

"And George," added Harry.

"Hagrid's got about half a pint, he said. That's enough for about four gallons ready mixed potion," Lupin answered. "How do your cartridges work then?"

"You shoot or throw them into the crowd. They are self-liquidating and will finish the Inferi within a very short time. At least if what you have found out about this poison is correct."

"I personally think this is pretty nasty," said Fred.

"An Inferius is dead, Fred. Nothing but a moving body made by Dark Arts. The poison just neutralizes the potion that was responsible for getting it going to start with," explained Lupin.

"It'll be better off following that, boy," said Moody. "And after you have once seen them in action, you forget about such sensitivities. They chew your flesh off your living bones!"

Involuntarily Hermione shivered under the Invisibility Cloak. Her hair brushed Harry again.

"Have any more of them been spotted?" asked Tonks hesitatingly.

"The Muggle Prime Minister told Scrimgeour about incidents that apparently are a sign of them," answered Moody. "He's quite upset, good old Rufus. At the Auror Headquarters they apparently don't progress either, and he blustered that under his direction it would look quite differently. Well. No trace of Snape or the Malfoys so far anyway. And all attempts to get closer to Azkaban failed, too. All they can see when getting nearer is golden haze. As soon as they get into the haze with their ships or brooms they stray in circles. Meanwhile they are pretty sure that Voldemort is staying at Azkaban."

"And we're not making any progress either," sighed Arthur Weasley. "No hint. The house that burnt down yesterday up in the North seemed to have belonged to Snape. Only debris and ashes left."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

"The worst is yet to come," started Lupin hesitatingly. "Minerva and Slughorn are afraid that he might try weather charms."

"Weather charms? How did they hit on that?" asked Fred in disbelief.

"All these chilly nights in August – and up in the North they haven't had a drop of rain for weeks. That's somehow suspicious."

"But weather charms – I thought this was a Muggles' fairy tale. Well, making a bit of snow in the garden for the kids at Christmas is okay. But on a grand scale – I've never heard of anybody who can do that." Arthur, too, sounded doubtful.

"Minerva said that Dumbledore had suggested this possibility. Apparently he reckoned Voldemort would try it," said Lupin slowly.

Chairs were moved and steps could be heard.

"Let's go, hurry up!" hissed Harry. They rushed upstairs as fast as they could, and reached Harry's drawing roomjust in time before the door was opened downstairs.

"Oh, gee, that was high time!" said Hermione. "I'm wondering why Moody didn't notice us. He should have been able to spot us through the door and the Invisibility Coat with his eye!"

"What does it matter!" mumbled Harry, looking over his desk for the other port-key feather. "I am allowed to be here, have you forgotten?"

"And shouldn't something have warned them that there is someone in the house?" continued Hermione.

"Here it is. Now come on, let's touch it together," said Harry.

"Do you have a tight hold of the book?"

"Yes, of course. Let's go now. They still might have noticed us, and I really don't want to have to come up with an explanation."

They stood at the desk and both of them touched the quill that was the other part of the double-portkey. "Return!" said Harry. With a jerk they were torn into the well-known pull and they whizzed through something which Lupin had called a corridor. The pull spit them out at the other end of the corridor, and when they crashed onto the floor of the common room in Hogwarts, it was too late to think about the fact that others might watch their unusual arrival.

Harry had clung to the book with both arms and had ungently landed on his knees. Hermione was rubbing her arm she had landed on. A quick glance around showed them that nobody had seen them. The common room was empty.

"Ron!"

"There he is. He is sleeping," said Hermione pointing to the chair at the fireplace. Ron had missed their arrival also. But the quill which had enabled their precise return lay on the armrest of his chair.

"By the way, do you really understand how the Portkeys work?" asked Harry in a low voice, putting the quill back into his pocket.

"There are the official ones like those we went to the Quidditch World Championship with. And then there are those for private use like your Double Portkey here. The one end of the way is predetermined and with the matching part you can reach this special place from where-ever you are. This kind of Portkey doesn't take you along but opens the corridor to your destiny. That's why you can easily return, too," explained Hermione getting up.

"Where do you know all that from?" asked Harry a bit awestruck.

"I read it up, you know," she answered shortly. "I thought this thing about your quills pretty weird, especially because the house at Grimmauld Place is supposed to be open only to insiders. Lupin probably made them himself. But these special Portkeys, too, have to be permitted, and you get the permission only when you can prove that you are allowed to stay at the place determined."

But Hermione sounded a bit absent-minded. She watched sleeping Ron, whose red hair fell in wisps over his forehead. He looked very young and innocent, silently snoring in his chair. For the first time Harry realized how much he resembled Ginny beyond the colour of the hair: the noble lips, the long, gently curving eyebrows. A sad feeling of loss rose in him. Eventually his eyes met Hermione's. They both smiled, maybe because both knew what the other one had been thinking. It was a strange moment.

Then Hermione determinedly took the book out of Harry's arms. Harry nudged Ron to wake him up. But it proved to be as difficult as he thought. In the end he shook him without mercy. Ron's deep sleep always made him uneasy now.

"Yeah, 'm awake," mumbled the shaken one.

"I should have taken a box of Waking-Beans from Fred and George with me!"

"Oh, no!" Hermione suddenly gave a groan.

"What's the matter?"

"Here, look at that! Ron, haven't you noticed that? And I thought you've _read_ in this book!"

The two bent their heads over the pages Hermione was showing them. "That's Latin!" shouted Harry appalled.

"Indeed. And making it worse: I think it is Medieval Latin used by scholars. I don't have a clue about that."

"Ron, you idiot! You really didn't notice that?"

Ron blushed and looked pretty angry now. "I only browsed in the book. I didn't have time to read! The only word I saw was Horcruxes!"

"_Horcruces_! Here it is! Admittedly – there are English chapters in between. Apparently only the original text by Slytherin is in Latin, Grindelwald's annotations are in English."

"There you go," snarled Ron.

Hermione was intensely staring at the pages. "There are lexicons and grammar books in the library. I will get myself acquainted with it," she said determinedly. "But we have to hide the book. It's strictly forbidden in Hogwarts."

"And you want to read it anyhow?"

"Well, I think, in this case the end justifies the means."

"I'll take the book and put it in my suitcase. The Black's book and some other things, that nobody should see, are also in there already. I locked it with a password," said Harry.

"I hope it's not something like 'Ginny' or – er – 'Voldemort'!" said Ron, getting up and stretching. "I'd try those first."

"Exactly, you fool. That's why it is none of those. Well, I'll go to bed now. During breakfast we'll tell you how it went."

Hermione, too, yawned and left for the girls' bedroom.

oooOooo

When they walked towards the greenhouses for the Herbology lesson the next morning, thick cold mist laid over the grass-land. Because they had slept too long and therefore had skipped breakfast, they whispered their report of what they had over-heard from the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix to Ron.

"Do you think Snape changed the Defensive Shield Charms?" asked Ron. "So that they might collapse?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," said Harry grimly.

He tried not to think of the Inferi reportedly having been seen. His experience in the cave, on the underground lake which had been filled with these bodies was still too fresh. And he didn't find it comforting that the Order apparently wanted to fight them with the poison of jellyfish.

"I don't believe in the weather charms, either," said Hermione shivering and pulling her coat closer around her. "I read that you have to cover the whole area where you want to change the weather with something like a magical cheese cover, you know. And it's not possible for a single person to do that, only for many people working together."

"Meanwhile there are enough deatheaters, don't you think?" Ron asked to consider, distrustfully eyeing the mist.

"Be quiet now, there's Professor Sprout. Let's meet at the lake during lunch time to talk everything over," said Harry.

Professor Sprout was standing at the door of the greenhouse, grimly looking at the mist that slowly started lifting now. In front of Harry Neville yawned and almost tripped over the door step. Inside it was cool and humid and it smelled like forest. Professor Sprout called them over into a separate big area, where there – to their surprise – several tall trees were planted on a thick layer of soil, leaves and fir needles.

"I welcome you all to our project of the year. As always in the graduating class this will be a teamwork, this time together with Professor Slughorn and Hagrid."

Harry looked up to the crown of a young beech tree and noticed that there were some bunches of another plant in the twigs. They bore clusters of tiny green berries but also unpleasant looking, blackish bags that seemed to have a filling which looked as though it was in teeming motion. Harry nudged Ron, but he, too, had already noticed the ulcerous outgrowths and he uncomfortably watched how they bulged out here and there.

"Has anybody got an idea what we are dealing with?" asked Professor Sprout, who had noticed the curious looks pretty well.

Neville and Hermione raised their hands.

"Yes, Mr. Longbottom, please enlighten us!"

"That looks like a Nestling – "

"The Forest Nestling!" interrupted Hermione.

"Exactly, the Forest Nestling. Not to be mistaken for the Ground Nestling, the Hedge Nestling or the Swamp Nestling, which all three –"

"Very nice, very nice, Mr. Longbottom. But slowly now. You are right. What we see here up in the twigs is the Ordinary Forest Nestling. This plant, its reproduction and finally the use of the berries are the topic of your graduation year project. The Nestling –," started Professor Sprout, stepping a bit backwards from the separated area after having peered up to the trees, "The Nestling was classified as a sponger for most of the time. It grows rankly in the tops of forest trees, and not rarely it stifles the host plant after a few years. But the special problem with the Nestling is its way of reproduction.

You see the seed bags up there? When they burst – and that will be pretty soon as far as I can see – then each bag will set free about one thousand little seedlings that glide to the ground. From there they start the search for their favoured nesting sites – that means the coats of animals or skin and hair of humans. These seedlings can move forward with their cilia like tiny beetles. They latch onto the spot where they might find warmth and – well, blood. Then they dig into the skin and there they mature to several scions that are able to fly."

"Inside the _skin_?" asked Lavender disgustedly.

"Exactly. And if you don't take care and you are strolling under the wrong tree at the wrong time, you can catch some nice furuncles," answered Professor Sprout laconically. "That isn't dangerous at all, only pretty displeasing. They take about four to eight weeks to reach maturity. Then the furuncles burst open by themselves and the scions fly out."

Half of the class gave a groan and choking sounds. The corners of Sprout's mouth twitched. "That's the reason why you will be wearing protective clothing for your work," she said and pointed to a pile of overalls and a basket with big protective goggles beside it.

"And what is the use of the Nestlings?" asked Hermione.

"You can make harmonising and even analgetic extraction from its berries. We learned this only two years ago from Ursula Ulcus' research. This might even be a ground-breaking discovery because it looks as if the active agent in the berries could substitute the much more expensive gland secretion of the Red-Eyed Pindicoot."

Perhaps with the exception of Neville and Hermione the class wasn't really interested in that. Everybody had stepped back from the reproduced patch of forest and they were closely watching the fidgeting inside the seed bags.

"Where are the seeds supposed to nest? There are no animals around!"

Professor Sprout had returned to the door and had a look outside. Meanwhile the mist had gone. "Hagrid should be here by now. I expect him any minute," she said.

Ron gave a groan. "Oh, no, not Hagrid. I'm sure he's got creatures that are much more intimidating than just a few furuncles!"

"Keep calm, Mr. Weasley. Or are you afraid of moles?" The others giggled.

"If it's Hagrid's moles they definitely have a lot of teeth or claws or poison stings," answered Ron.

"There he comes!" said Professor Sprout at that moment and opened the door wide. The students rushed after her and could see Hagrid coming across the grounds. He was carrying a heavy cage in his arms, but apparently something had escaped from of it at that moment, because he cursed, put it down and slammed the little door shut.

"Oh, yeah! I'd say that's a good start!" said Ron.

Hagrid tried to catch something that was flitting over the lawn as fast as a rabbit and doubling back like one. At this moment two hissing cats came rushing from different directions and chased the little animal.

"Oh, no, that's Crookshanks!" shouted Hermione and started running, too.

The big red tomcat and its black comrade dashed around the lawn like crazy. Hagrid came along with the finally closed cage, gasping. "Hope the beasts don' get it!"

Hermione succeeded in catching Crookshanks. He struggled fiercely, but Hermione relentlessly held him tight.

"That one won' get 'it either, I s'pose!" said Hagrid watching the still chasing black cat. "Probably the Sluffer is goin' ter dig a hole and makes its exit. And the tomcat misses out! Speed ain't everythin'."

"Sluffers?" asked Harry and dared to glance into the cage.

"Diggin' Sluffers, twenty of them in here. I go get the toads later."

The spectacle on the lawn came to the end that Hagrid had predicted: Finally the cat reached the sluffer, but it had digged itself into the loose soil as fast as the wind. The cat tried hard to hit it with the paw, but he couldn't reach it any more. Eventually he left the little heap of earth and indignantly began to clean himself. He managed to put on a proud expression as if he felt embarrassed that he had let himself be carried away by this kerfuffle and he wanted it to fall into oblivion as soon as possible.

"Can I let Crookshanks go?" shouted Hermione still trying to avoid her pet's paws.

"Sure," said Hagrid. "The Sluffer is dug in." Relieved, Hermione let the red cat go that ran away immediately.

"Well," Hagrid started bored. "This is the Diggin' Sluffer, a sort of mole, very peaceful, can on the other hand devastate a vegetable patch heavily. Cats love ter hunt 'em as yer've seen. Can't resist when they see one."

"We'll put the Sluffers into the green house now," said Professor Sprout. "They are appropriate hosts to the Forest- and Ground Nestling. As alternative experiment we'll put some Forest Toads in this enclosure. Let's see if that works, too."

Neville had been observing the grey brown animals in the cage closely. They were indeed like moles having the same front paws perfectly designed for digging but obviously they were quicker and more versatile. Curiously they sat up on their hind paws and watched the students who were staring at them in return.

"I can't believe Hagrid puts something so harmless in front of us!" Ron said to Harry quietly. "They almost look cute!"

"Isn't it cruel to infect them with the Nestlings on purpose?" Neville asked.

Professor Sprout rolled her eyes. "Mr Longbottom, do you want to do research or supervise a petting zoo?" Neville remained silent.

"Look!" Lavender screamed. "One burst."

Everyone rushed to the forest area but stopped out of harm's way from the trees. In fact, one of the blackish bags at the beech tree was torn open. They were watching in fascination as many tiny, bluish things flew out and whirred to the ground.

"They have one wing on their back so they can glide down from the tree," Professor Sprout explained. "Then the wing drops off and they move on by crawling." She reached into the cage and put one of the Sluffers onto the forest ground. It instantly took off. Hagrid set the others free as well.

"Neville! Don't! Come back," Hermione shouted suddenly. But Neville did not respond. He had climbed over the glass barrier and determinedly went over to the spot where the Nestlings had just landed. The class watched him fascinated and with disgust as he lay his hand on the ground and waited until one of the tiny crawlers had reached his arm. Professor Sprout looked at him in surprise.

"I'll study it closely," Neville said, a touch of defiance in his voice. "And I'll write an essay about it."

"Very good, Mr Longbottom. Your dedication is very admirable. I just hope you won't regret it. But I'll read your essay with great interest!"

As Neville climbed back, the others retreated.

"This is so disgusting!" Lavender moaned.

"Man, you sleep in _our_ dormitory!" said Dean "You should have talked to us about that beforehand!"

"Once the Nestling is settled, it's not dangerous anymore," said Professor Sprout. "And now let's start. I've got some bushes with berries over there that need to be harvested. You are going to use the berries in Professor Slughorn's class. Be careful, the bushes have countless capillary barbs. "

"Can we wear gloves?" Lavender asked.

"You wouldn't be able to pick the berries if you did. So grit your teeth and go!" the Professor answered resolutely.

oooOooo

Finally lunchtime. They had eaten, then Hermione had hurried off to some office – this time Professor Harper's – and Ron and Harry went for a little walk down by the lake. Since the fog had lifted students were outside everywhere.

"The Phoenix-people think that Voldemort is in Azkaban?" Ron asked.

"Yes. Matches quite well, doesn't it? But did you know that Fred and George are members now?"

"No. But I guess they can make a lot money with it, too."

"You mean, they're only in this for the money?" Harry asked surprised.

"No, not exactly. But they are damn good at making money – I believe they smell every chance." Harry had to agree with him on that.

"So Snape's house burnt down – it's weird that he even had one. Never though about where he might live, when he's not in Hogwarts," Ron said.

"Well, his father was a Muggle. Maybe it was his house." Harry found himself thinking that Snape may lie somewhere underneath the smoking debris of this house. Reluctantly he shook his head as if he could get rid of this idea. This wish was definitely more than just normal hate. But what exactly was normal hate? He just had to remember Snape's look when he bent over Dumbledore and something deep inside him just flipped out. He barely avoided a neon-orange coloured frisbee and threw it back to a first-year.

"Somehow crazy to be back at school as if nothing had happened, isn't it?" Ron asked. "And all the time I try not to look at that white tomb over there."

Harry had felt this way, too, but both of them were now looking at the other lakeside where the white stone of Dumbledore's tomb was glowing in the bright sun. Afterwards they went along in silence and for the first time Harry felt peaceful when he thought of Dumbledore.  
Eventually they heard fast steps behind them.

"Hey, wait!" Hermione said when they turned around. As she was walking next to them silence was over. "I just got back from Harper's office. She has worked in Padua, too, so she could tell me something about the academy and the scholarship."

"And how was it?"

"Don't know. Conversation was quite good. She appears funny and pretty cool. But in her office there's something on the wall covered by a black cloth."

"Maybe a portrait of this Dementor she had interviewed?" Ron suggested, kicking a few still green acorns across the path. "I mean, what do you expect? She's teacher for Defence Against The Dark Arts."

"That thing seemed a bit fishy to me," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I think it was a mirror. Why does she hang it up only to cover it so well afterwards?"

"Probably she doesn't like her own reflection?"

"I tell you, she's got a skeleton in her closet," Hermione said. "I'll see what I can find out about her."

"You don't believe Luna's nonsense, do you? You know, Voldemort's daughter and so?" Harry asked.

"Rubbish! But there's something fishy about it. There comes Luna by the way."

In fact Luna came strolling along the lake path, every once in a while taking pleasure in biting into an apple she held in one hand, intently looking at the water glistening in the sunlight. She seemingly noticed them as she nearly banged into Ron. She looked at them mildly surprised. "Hey! I didn't see you coming."

"We could tell that," Ron said, smiling at her.

"I've been looking at the lake. Isn't it beautiful in the sun?"

"Yeah," said Ron who was still gazing at her.

She wore her hair in a plaited topknot and had put a few hairpins with big glimmering pearls in it. Harry and Hermione intentionally avoided looking at each other.

"Do you think the water is already too cold to go swimming?" Luna asked.

"I'd never go in there voluntarily," Hermione said shivering. "I had enough of that at the Triwizard Tournament, many thanks!"

"And then there's this giant squid. And I don't fancy after the merpeople either," added Ron.

"Let alone the Grindylows and others," said Harry who remembered his bath in the lake at the Triwizard Tournament too well.

"The _Quibbler_ says that you can find something to win your love for you when you swim in the lake during full moon and dive in the way of the moonlight," Luna explained matter-of-factly. Giant squids, merpeople and Grindylows obviously didn't impress her at all.

"So the _Quibbler_ now has a column for life experience or what?" asked Hermione peering Luna with a slightly desperate look.

"It's been having it for ages. _Madame Merrymaid's Reassurances_ on page eight," answered Luna untroubled.

"Make sure you take some Gillyweed if you want to go diving," Harry said.

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you, Harry. See you tonight, Ron!" With these words she left.

"You're going to meet her tonight?" Hermione asked sharply.

"The yearbook project. We want to have a look at old yearbooks. Find some suggestions. Collect some background material," explained Ron who was avoiding her gaze.

"Just talk her out of this diving thing," said Harry.

"Yeah, just tell her what she needs to win your heart," Hermione snarled at him.

oooOooo

Hermione was at the library working on her application. Ron had left to meet Luna because of the yearbook. He had tried to look as cool as possible when he left but his ears had been quite red. Now Harry was alone and had withdrawn to the dormitory to be undisturbed. He sat on the windowsill and spent a dreary hour pondering. From here he had just seen Lupin walking over the meadows and Hekate Harper next to him. It was always easy to recognize her white hair. He was wondering if they were busy with the Defensive Spells and Charms that Snape had left behind, inscrutable. Or were they going to Hagrid to get the mysterious poison from the jellyfish?

It was quite comforting to know Lupin was around. Of all his father's friends he was the only one left. He made a mental note to ask Lupin about his parents the next time he met him. He should have done that earlier. He wondered if he had the heart to talk about what he had found out about his mother's ancestry. Was it possible that Lupin knew about it? That Lily had known about her Slytherin ancestry he knew for sure since Slughorn's Party. But somehow he doubted that she had talked about it to anybody. Maybe she hadn't even told his father. Suddenly Harry's image of his parents was different from what he had been told: His parents, a happy, harmonious couple, who had met and fallen in love back at school and married afterwards, who would still live today if it hadn't been for Voldemort –

What might it have meant for his mother? What did it mean for himself? He didn't want to be a Slytherin, it was as simple as that. Slughorn could go on about genius and nobility uniting in this genealogy. To him it was clear: Being Slytherin meant being close to the dark side. Bad enough to be chased by Voldemort due to a prophecy. He didn't want to be related to him. It seemed as if he had just discovered a part of himself he hadn't known before, that was strange and repugnant to him but which he couldn't get rid of.

Today, there seemed to be only dark thoughts. When he looked into his suitcase – the password was "Pandora" by the way – only unpleasant things looked back: the jewelry case containing the earrings that he'd rather forget about; _Nightworlds_ that he had just given a inconspicuous cover today; Snape's copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_, _Nature's Nobility_ and of course the mysterious, safely locked book with the Black's coat of arms.

The book Kreacher had died for ... Harry couldn't get it out of his mind. He had spent many minutes pondering about how to open it but he ran out of ideas how else to try it. Gradually he tended to Ron's proposal of opening it forcibly. Only the reminder of Kreacher's death held him off. He wondered what it may contain since it had been so important for Kreacher that he didn't want it to fall into his hands. There was something eerie about this book, not only because of Kreacher's painfully death. Harry could feel it.

And at the back of his mind there it was: the smouldering thought of the Horcruxes. Again he took the plain, undecorated golden locket out of his pocket and glanced at it. At least two people had died for this object: The mysterious writer of the note who had signed with R.A.B. and of course Dumbledore. Why hadn't he known before or at least realised then that it was a fake and not the true Horcux? Harry had been thinking about that a lot. He assumed it was a mistake he just didn't want to put past Dumbledore. And still there was the question of where the true locket was. Had R.A.B. succeeded in destroying it?

Grindelwald's book might possibly help him to find something about creating and hopefully destroying Horcruxes – provided that Hermione would get any further with the Latin – but it wouldn't be any help to find Voldemort's Horcruxes in particular. The diary and the ring of Voldemort's grandfather Marvolo were destroyed. Whereabouts and condition of the locket – uncertain. If Dumbledore's assumptions were correct, there were still the goblet of Helga Hufflepuff and probably Voldemort's pet, the serpent Nagini, left. And last but not least items of the Hogwarts founders Ravenclaw or Gryffindor.

But why shouldn't he have created another Horcrux in order to replace Tom Riddle's diary – that he knew was destroyed – and to fill the parts of his soul fragments up to seven again?  
And who knew for sure that Voldemort had not found out about the destruction of the ring?  
Pondering about Horcruxes was like a bottomless pit. Whenever he was concerned with it, his head was buzzing. He decided to go out and visit Hagrid. He wanted to ask him about Tom Riddle anyway since they attended school at the same time.

oooOooo

Harry could see Hagrid from a distance. He was just coming along the path out of the forest carrying two empty baskets and a big pannier on his back and was heading towards his house. When he saw Harry he waved at him.

"Jus' been at Grawp's," he said when Harry arrived. "I brought him loads o' bread an' cookies an' tea. He's learned a lot. Can cook tea by 'imself!"

"Hm," said Harry.

"Seemed somehow confused. Looks like some creatures are on their way 'round in the mountains and talk rubbish 'bout You-Know-Who an' stuff. They've put a bug in 'is ear. All giants would follow You-Know-Who an' he should too an' if not they're goin' ter clobber 'im. Barely could calm 'im down."

They went in silence on the path between Hagrid's vegetable patch and potato field to his hut. "Want ter come in for a tea?" Hagrid asked.

"Sure. I actually wanted to ask you something."

Hagrid who was putting down his pannier, paused for a moment and gave him a look Harry could not interpret. Distrustful? Wary? Scared? A bit of everything. You could not overlook his discomfort on this announcement, and Harry was surprised at that.

"I'll make tea first," said Hagrid and stored pannier and baskets in his closet. Then he filled the kettle and rummaged copiously for tea caddy and sugar. "What's it about, Harry?"

"You knew Tom Riddle back in school," Harry started.

Hagrid stopped rummaging and appeared out of his supply cabinet looking surprised and – so it seemed to Harry – relieved. "Yeah. He made sure I was expelled from school. That bugger."

"Tell me about him. What kind of person he was. Whom he spent time with."

"Tom Riddle," said Hagrid quietly and dropped himself on a groaning chair. He spun the tea caddy in his big hands and pondered. Harry waited patiently.

"Yeh know, there's one thing I always kept to myself. But maybe yeh should know all the same." But nevertheless he obviously had difficulties talking about it. He got up again and Harry watched him brewing tea, pouring milk in a chipped little can, putting the sugar bowl on the table.

"At that time in the summer holidays after I was expelled from school – I followed him. I was doggin' his step, am quite good at it, yeh wouldn't believe it 'cause I'm so big, but I'm good at it. Don' think he ever realised it," he said contentedly. "First off ter London, ter this orphanage where he lived. Then all o' them were off for summer vacation – can yeh imagine 'im goin' on vacation after all the trouble! I was all knocked out. Guess, I wanted him ter account for it. Maybe I just wanted ter knock him up."

Harry was all on edge. When Hagrid looked at him, he nodded.

"Ye'll never guess where they went, Harry."

"Sure! To Godric's Hollow," Harry answered laconically. "Where my parents were murdered."

Hagrid stared at him. "Yeh know that? How?"

"I've been there, with Lupin. I'll explain later. For now go on, please."

"Well, I didn't know this place then. Recognised it when I got yeh out when yeh were a baby. Anyway, all the orphans went there ter soak up a little sea air. And that's what Riddle did." Hagrid shivered invlountarily. When he continued, he lowered his voice.

"He'd been strollin' around alone, down at the beach, among the cliffs, quite breakneck hikes. But one time he wasn't alone. Had a girl with him, few years younger than him. She didn't look happy, but they went ter the cliffs. An' then all of a sudden they were gone an' I thought I had lost 'em, but then I saw the gap in the rock face. There was a cave an' they went in, I followed. Was quite difficult in there. Had to hide an' stay far away from them. In the cave he suddenly took somethin' out of his pocket, was a rabbit or so. Gave it ter the girl, together with a knife. She had ter cut the poor rabbit's throat. Could see her shiver, an' when the blood was spatterin' around he hissed at her icily. Collected the blood with a bowl."

"And then?" asked Harry breathlessly when Hagrid paused.

"He drank – I think, he drank somethin' out of a mug an' then washed his hands in the bowl. Can yeh imagine that? Washed 'em in blood."

"Did he bring something else? What happened then?"

Hagrid looked at him in surprise. "Yeah, a little book. Dunno what it was. Poured the blood from the bowl over it. Then he said a spell an' touched the book with his wand. An' I saw how the blood flowed – flowed in the book or so. Sunk in it. Book looked as if it was in mint condition again. Then I made off 'cause it looked as if they were goin' ter leave. After that I didn't want ter get found by him!"

"Sure," Harry said mechanically. He was almost sure, that Hagrid had – without knowing it – witnessed Voldemort creating his first Horcrux. The diary. Above all he was quite sure that this girl had been the very Amy Benson that the head of the orphanage in Dumbledore's Pensieve had talked about. Tom Riddle had carried her off to a cave as a child – quite certain the same cave that apparently was of particular importance to him. "Tell me again, how old had Riddle been then?"

"That was the summer after his fifth year in Hogwarts. So around sixteen, I think."

"And you followed him the whole summer?"

"Not after that," muttered Hagrid and lowered his eyes. "Can't explain it, but the thing in the cave was – it scared me. All the blood –"

"And before?"

"Lost track of him once," Hagrid answered, still a little ashamed. "Was only one day. As if he had vanished from the face of the earth."

Enough time to kill his father and his grandparents, Harry thought and remembered the scene Dumbledore had shown him. Three murders but only one Horcrux. That must have given him the idea in the first place to create more Horcruxes. He had had two surplus murders, so to speak. And in autumn, back in Hogwarts he had asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes, and in particular about the possibility to create more than one.  
Harry's head was ringing. Above all, Hagrid's story suggested some sort of ritual.

"Did you never tell Dumbledore about it?" he asked eventually.

"Till a few years ago, I didn't even know that Tom Riddle is – ehm – You-Know-Who. An' who would've believed me? I was thirteen an' just expelled from school an' _he_ was responsible for that! He was prefect, best grades, awards an' all that! Headmaster Dippet had always been taken with him. Tried ter forget it."

"And then? When the Chamber of Secrets had been opened again five years ago?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Felt guilty at that time, yeh know. An' then it turned out alright. Wouldn't have helped anyway."

Would it? It would have saved Dumbledore a long quest for the cave. But else?

"Have I done any damage?" Hagrid asked quietly and fearfully. "I mean – could I've prevented Dumbledore's death – "

"No, no," Harry calmed him down. "Certainly not. I think he knew most of it before anyway." He needed to get out now and ponder and then tell Ron and Hermione everything. So he said goodbye hectically. When he stepped in front Hagrid's hut he saw the black tom cat that had chased the Sluffer that morning, stroll off to the edge of the forest.

The meadows were thickly befogged. Up in the blue twilight of the evening sky the moon rose behind a thin layer of mist.


	12. The Serpent's Cave

**Chapter Twelve:**

**The Serpent's Cave**

**  
**(Translated by annebanane, Coombs, dagmara, dori85, LordSlytherin, Pail and Threecornerjack)

Harry had overslept again. He hurried down the stairs, yawning while he attempted to get to potions in time. He saw Hermione turn around the corner at the bottom of the stairs."Hermione! Wait for me!" He jumped down the remaining steps.

"Where is Ron?" she asked as he caught up with her.

"A good morning to you, too" he replied, feeling a little annoyed.

She looked at him and laughed. "It wasn't meant that way! I was just wondering what kept you!"

"We both overslept. But he wanted to shove down a piece of toast."

"He's out of luck on that! The big hall has already been cleared – the final exams for last years' seventh is on today."

"I'd totally forgotten about that," Harry said and wondered if he had seen Cho lately.

They slowly descended the stairs to Snape´s dungeon where Slughorn was now teaching.

"Give me the Grindelwald later on. I want to check if what Hagrid told you yesterday really was a Horcrux ritual."

"Where do you want to take it, to work with it?" Harry asked reluctantly. "If somebody catches you with it, there´ll be a lot of trouble and the book will also be taken from us!"

"Hey, are you finally growing cautious? I think it will be least conspicuous if I use it in the common room or the library. You did give it a neutral cover didn´t you?"

Harry nodded. "_History of Magic_ is the title now. Reckon nobody will take a look at that voluntarily."

"Just to be sure, I've got a befuddlement charm. If somebody does look, all the lines will be mixed up so that he can´t read it any more." Suddenly she grimaced and Harry sniffed, too. "Can you smell that as well?"

"Strange, ain't it?"

They entered the dire dungeon with its boards full of jars with mainly nasty contents. Most of the seats were already occupied. At a table in the background, to their surprise, there was Hagrid standing beside Professor Slughorn. They were busy looking into a great cauldron. It seemed to be the source of the peculiar smell.

"Hey, there is Padma! Hello!" Hermione shouted towards a table at the other end of the room. Indeed, Padma Patil was sitting there with the other three Ravenclaws, as if she had never been gone."My parents think that this is the safest place for us to be," she explained. "Parvati and I only returned this morning."

Hagrid passed by Harry's seat. He was wearing a huge apron and protective gloves that went up to his upper arms. He had a wale of tiny, blazing red spots across his face.

"Gravediggers!" he whispered to Harry, wearing a meaningful expression. At the door he nearly bumped into Ron who had just come running into the classroom.

"Are we complete now?" asked Professor Slughorn, turning to the class.

Ron hastily sat down next to Harry.

"Good. So let's start. But first, let me tell you about the scent that certainly will irritate the noses of the more sensitive among us! It rises from the cauldron over there and I would strongly recommend you not to get too close to it. It contains a highly insalubrious mixture. Unfortunately, I haven't had time yet to move it to a more adequate place."

"Hagrid must have milked the jellyfish!" said Ron to Harry quietly. "Have you seen the wale in his face?"

Harry nodded a little absently, as there still lay an unpleasant task ahead. He decided to get it over with, and raised his hand.

"Yes, Harry, what else is there?"

"Would it be possible to lend me a copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_? I – uh – left mine at home." Harry felt Hermione looking at him from aside.

Slughorn raised his eyebrows. "Hm, if my memory is not deceiving me, Harry, I already provided you with a book belonging to the school last year! But you returned it, didn't you? Quite a used book, if I remember it right – but you never know, maybe its hard-working previous owner wrote one or the other useful thing in there!" Thus having spoke he went to the cupboard and looked around in a pile of old books. "Well, there he is! Libatius Borage!" he said contently. "It looks like it is the same copy as last year."

Harry took the – as he knew – brand new book that wore the smudgy cover with the dog ears of Snape's old Potions book and nodded respectfully.

"You really want to do without the Prince?" asked Hermione in a whisper.

"In case of emergency it's still upstairs in my trunk," Harry answered frowning.

"As you heard from Professor Sprout yesterday, we will attend to preparation and utilisation of Nestling's berries at first. So good old Borage won't be of any help to you since we are exploring new grounds. I am very anxious to see at which conclusions we are going to arrive together, and I'm really sorry that only few students attend this class. At first, we will try a simple, small potion for which the formula was developed by Ursula Ulcus in the course of her research in this field. You can drink this potion like tea and for example, serve it – well, to sophisticated guests. As I've heard, it enjoys great popularity at the Ministry. It is relaxing and harmonising."

He took a big jar out of a sink filled with ice cubes. "These are the berries you picked – certainly by the sweat of your brows – yesterday. Everyone will get a small amount, and then let's see what you know about the other indispensable ingredients of harmonizing potions. Yes, Miss Granger?"

So the lesson went on. Harry wasn't very much interested in Nestling berries, although a relaxing potion would be just fine for him now. When he had opened his box to get scales and some measuring spoons out of it, a small crumpled piece of parchment fell out. When he flattened it, he could read the little friendly words in blazing red: "Potter, get out!"

He looked around to see if somebody was watching him but everyone was busy unpacking and weighing. He crumpled up the note and pocketed it.

At the end of class when they were cleaning their cauldrons and packing their implements, ther was a knock at the door and Lupin entered. He smiled at Harry, Ron and Hermione then went to Slughorn who was again standing in front of the stinking cauldron.

"Did you see how bad he looks?" asked Ron appalled.

"It's close to full moon," Hermione explained.

"Don't wait for me, I need to talk to him!" said Harry on the spur of the moment.

"But hurry! Or you'll be late for Defence!"

Ron and Hermione left the dungeon with the others while Harry was rummaging around on his table waiting for Lupin and Slughorn to end their conversation. When Slughorn disappeared in his small office next to the dungeon, Harry took advantage of the situation. "Are you going to stay here at school for a while?"

"I'm just getting a new dose of Wolfsbane Potion. Tonight's a full moon. I'll probably stay in one of the guest rooms for the next two or three days. Are you alright?"

"I'd like to talk to you. About a lot of things, I think. But mainly about my parents."

Lupin's smile faded. His expression turned sorrowful on his pale, tired face. "How do you feel about going for a walk around the lake on the day after tomorrow? By then I'll be almost alright again and we can talk unhurriedly."

Harry nodded. Two days more or less didn't matter.

"Are you alright?" asked Lupin.

"Sure," said Harry and took his books. In view of Lupin's fevered eyes, it should have been _he_ to ask this question. When Professor Slughorn returned from his office, holding a steaming mug of coffee, Harry turned around to leave. In front of the dungeon's door he could hear Slughorn saying: "Exciting, all these Shield Charms, aren't they? I don't have the faintest idea why it works now, but they seem to reinforce. Finally, we must have found the right spell."

"It'd be more comforting if we knew which spell it was, that worked in the end." Lupin answered.

The first thought that came to Harry's mind when he hurried away to Defence Against The Dark Arts was: "Quidditch! Now we can practice again!"

oooOooo

While students came in, sitting down, rummaging in their bags and ending conversations, Professor Harper sat behind her desk reading. She wore a crimson, worn out sweater over her black skirt and was holding a steaming mug in one of her hands. With her other hand every once in a while she broke a piece from a whole bar of chocolate and ate it. A dented jug steaming heavily stood in front of her.

Harry sat down and wanted to speak to Ron about his assumption that Professor Harper might possibly drink Wolfsbane Potion as well when she stood up, mopping chocolate crumbs off the table and sitting down on its edge.

"Good morning, everyone! So who's giving me a short summary of the last lesson? Mr Longbottom?"

Neville, whose face was distorted due to his swollen cheek, blushed as every time when he had to speak. "Magical Weapons – it was about Magical Weapons – we will learn how to make one for private use. There are weapons for offence and defence but we will only make a weapon for defence."

"Quite short, Mr. Longbottom, but correct. Do you have problems speaking today?"

"A little," mumbled Neville.

A slight snicker went through the rows.

"Weapons for defence!" Professor Harper said, pushing herself off the table and starting to walk slowly up and down the aisle between the desks while talking. Her boots sounded as if their soles were studded with metal. "Of course we are not making weapons for offence. And you should be glad about that for making them requires blood – _your_ blood. As I said before, it's mainly a Dark Art. And as in many fields of the Dark Arts blood is a significant element of the spell. Among other things that's why we will only deal with weapons for defence. Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Why our blood? I thought it's usual to use animal blood for such spells."

"Yes, in many cases animal blood – in the first instance the blood of  
young black animals – is applied. But look, a magical weapon – predominantly one meant for attacking – is something personal, an object especially calibrated to you. In it, your powers should unify and reach full strength. And when you want to transfer a piece of your personality to an object, the easiest and most profound way is to use your blood. You shouldn't trifle with it. It is always a risk to refer something from yourself to an object."

Hermione gave Ron and Harry a meaningful look.

"What about the wands? Shouldn't our powers also – er – be bundled in them? But there –"

"The wand, Mr Thomas, chooses _you_ – not the other way around! Weren't you aware of it? It is manufactured and rests until the day the person who will be the owner touches it. A wand is individual in a completely different way than a magical weapon. In this subject I would recommend to you a book, _Wand and Magical Weapon _by Wanda Armiger, which by the way is also relevant literature for the examinations … It is really educational."

She just got back to her desk, using this opportunity to refill her cup. Then she continued with walking. "Back to the subject. Defensive weapons. Well, just as offensive weapons, those that serve to defend are calibrated to you to a certain extent. To put it short: to make such a weapon you choose an object which is common, as inconspicuous as possible, and which you are able to carry with you at any time. To have emotional ties with this object or to choose something that expresses a primary trait of your personality would be quite helpful.  
For example – Mr Weasley, right? – what would be your choice?"

"A knight. A chessman," Ron said promptly.

Professor Harper gave him a delighted and somehow surprised look. "Sounds like a good idea. Guess you like playing chess?"

"Mm," nodded Ron, almost blushing due to the praise.

As Harper moved on, Harry fumbled for the locket in his jacket. It was inconspicuous, he always carried it with him, and he had indeed emotional ties to it. However, it didn't seem to be appropriate. It wasn't his possession, and it had an evil meaning. And he knew too little about it –

Tardily, he recognized Professor Harper who was bending over him. When he looked up, he found pure horror in her glance. „I want to speak to you in my office after this class," she said sternly.

He quickly put the locket back and ignored the inquiring glances of Ron and Hermione.

The rest of the lesson passed by without him really noticing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't concentrate. There was no doubt that Professor Harper had seen the locket in his hand – and that it was of some significance to her. This was all the more puzzling as he couldn't detect anything special about the locket.

He was only half listening as the transfer charm and special potions for it that would work without blood were being explained. He felt a certain amount of admiration for Professor Harper as he watched her carry on with the lesson as if nothing had happened, drink her tea – or whatever it was – and walk around the class. But he was not mistaken. She had clearly been horrified to see that locket in his hand.

"Why does she want to see you?" Ron asked in a low voice when they were packing up their things at the end of the lesson.  
"I haven't got a clue," said Harry, sounding defeated. "She saw the locket," he added in a whisper.

Hermione looked at him with a worried expression. "We'll see you in the common room later on. Good luck, Harry," she said as she left the class room with Ron.

Professor Harper was standing in front of her desk and watched him carefully. When the rest of the class had left, she took her mug and the pitcher and went into her office.  
Feeling uneasy, Harry followed her. She strode ahead energetically and threw the door closed behind Harry with a bang. Casually she gestured for him to take the chair in front of her desk, an uncomfortable looking, old wooden chair apparently intended for visitors. On the wall behind her desk where Professor Harper was now seated, Harry saw what Hermione had mentioned previously: An oblong object, completely covered with a black cloth.

"And now, Mr Potter, kindly explain from where you got this locket!" she said, folding her arms in front of her and looking at him expectantly – and to Harry it seemed – threateningly.

"Professor Dumbledore – well – gave it to me," Harry replied, wanting to spill as little as possible about what he and Dumbledore had been up to.

She gave him a piercing look and then surprisingly smiled. "In this case we truly have a stalemate. But seeing you are Harry Potter, I think I will start. Maybe I should have done so earlier." Harper hesitated a short while and seemingly tried to work out how to continue. Then she looked at Harry. To his utter surprise, she finally said, "I myself bought this locket many years ago."

"How – I mean it doesn't look very special – how could you recognize it?"

"Let's just say, I can see that this is the one," was her gloomy reply. "Was – was anything inside?"

Harry didn't answer. As the silence began to burden on them she asked with an impatient huff, "Very well then, was there a note in it – a letter?"

She had probably gathered the answer from Harry's astonished face. "It was a letter to Lord Voldemort – am I right?"

"How come you know that? Or are you reading my thoughts?"

"No, Mr Potter, I know this because I knew the person who wrote this letter. Far more puzzling I think is the fact that you hold this locket and the letter therein in your hands. To my information, it was kept in a – let's say rather inaccessible place."

"You knew him?"

Professor Harper suddenly uttered a helpless laugh. "All right, Mr Potter. That won't take us anywhere. I will show you something that could help us on." She pulled a thin necklace out of her cloak, which had attached a tiny eagle made of gold, whose eyes where inlaid with onyx. She touched it lightly with her wand.

A pale mist rose out of it and filled the room around Harry and Professor Harper.

ooOoo

As the mist slowly settled, the room around them seemed to have expanded: They looked at a rocky, inhospitable coast, which Harry recognized immediately with a deep shiver. Behind them the cliff towered inaccessibly into the light morning sky.

In front of them two children, a girl and a boy of the age of about six or seven, were climbing along a narrow strip of land covered with dislodged boulders that separated the cliffs from the sea. Harry asked himself fleetingly how the two had managed to descend the steep face.

"Get a move on!" a voice called from further along and a shock of black hair became visible above a large grey rock. Harry immediately recognized the handsome features of Tom Riddle's face although he was only about ten years old at this point. He grinned. "It's right up here!"

As the children reached him Harry could also see the dark opening in the rock face through which he already had swum once. He knew when the tide was in, it was far more than half full of water. Now when the tide was out, it seemed that one could walk in without getting wet feet.

"I think it's weird here, Tom!" the little girl said. The boy didn't say anything, but his eyes were full of doubt.

"Come on, Raggedy-Amy!" Tom Riddle pressed, not without a contemptuous undertone. "Don't be a coward. This is your only chance to see something like it!"

Reluctantly, Amy and Dennis followed him into the narrow alleyway. It was gloomy here but Tom led the way at a good pace.

"Did you hear that?" Amy suddenly whispered and stopped. The two children listened breathlessly. The rushing surge – there it was again! Clearly a groaning, then a sapless outcry.

"Hey, you two! It isn't far any more" Tom turned to face them. He suddenly held a burning torch in his hand. Amy and Dennis scrambled after him so they wouldn't be left alone. As they stopped next to Tom, they saw something in the light of the torch that looked like a bundle of clothes. Then the bundle groaned again. With eyes widened in fright the children looked at Tom.

"He must have fallen from the rocks. Only an old tramp," he said. "Dragged himself in here to be safe from the rising tide."

Only then did they see the dark puddle that had developed around his body. Amy felt that she could smell the blood. And another bad stench – alcohol?

Tom giggled. "He had two bottles of rum in his bag. Pity they also broke. But you can still smell it, can't you?"

"Tom, we have to tell Mrs Cole about this. And the police! We have to get him out of there! The tide could reach –"

"Of course the tide will reach him. It will be there where he is – in exactly – forty-seven minutes. I measured it and worked it out."

"Then we really have to hurry!"

"You are an idiot, Dennis! He's already had it, believe me. Nobody can help him any more. But we –," Tom stopped talking and turned to the other two with a wild and conspiratorial expression on his face, "we can keep him company. We can watch him drown! Maybe we can see what happens when someone dies!"

The other two children stared at him in horror.

"Why are you gawking at me like that? He's just some old vagabond who's going to kick the bucket anyway! Are you intending to run off? I didn't think you were such sissies as the others are!"

"But we can't – can't just sit here and –" Little Amy fell into silence. She was a wild child that had seen quite a lot in the six years of her life. She admired Tom because he seemed to be afraid of nothing and nobody and always did what he wanted to do. But this here – this was something different.

"You can't? What do you want to do? By the time you get to Cole the incoming tide will easily have reached him."

"Can't we pull him out? Onto the rock outside?" Dennis suggested.

"I'll run for help!" Amy firmly stated. "You know how fast I can run. Maybe I find someone along –"

"I don't think your going to run off anywhere, Raggedy-Amy," Tom said calmly as he looked at her. She shuddered. "What do you mean –"

"See that?" Tom pointed at her right foot. Amy looked down and went rigid. A little green snake with a black pattern on its back was winding its way up her shoe. She screamed.

"You better be quiet, Amy! I can tell it to leave you be."

"Get it off!!"

"Just stop where you are!"

"No! Tom! Help me!"

The snake slid around her ankle. The feeling was obviously more than Amy could take. She kicked the snake – and it bit her. Amy's scream rang through the whole cave. She dropped to the ground, holding her ankle with both hands. The moment the snake wanted to bite again a loud hiss could be heard. The animal stopped in mid-movement and then swayed its head from one side to the other in Tom's general direction. Tom uttered a few more hissing sounds. The snake went in his direction, Tom reached out for it and the snake wound around his lower arm like a cat wanting to be stroked. Dennis had retreated to the wall of the cave.

Tom lifted his smiling gaze to both of them. "She will now disappear again, won't she?" he said and obediently the snake slid from his hand to the ground and slithered through the cave to disappear into the dark. Dennis gasped in horror.

Amy sat on the fine white sand that covered the cave floor, shivering. Big drops of perspiration showed on her forehead. "It hurts so much!" she croaked.

"You're not going to die, Amy. I'll help you," said Tom. "But first we'll watch this old guy die. Sit down next to me, right here. You too, Dennis."

Unnoticed the water had nearly reached them in the meantime. Tom Riddle nimbly hurried up the steps to a level of the cave that Harry and Dumbledore had ascended to. The steps had been under water at the time.

The three children crouched down on the top step, directly above the battered figure.

"Why?" Amy dared to ask. "Why do you want to see that, Tom?"

"I already said so. I want to know what happens when someone dies."

ooOoo

"But this wasn't the end of it," said Hekate Harper, waving her hand to spread pale fog over the scene once more, "and Amy realized it despite her only being six years old and feeling the distraction of the snake bite that was causing burning waves of pain to travel through her body."

She and Harry seemed to stand somewhere in a void. Professor Harper, who obviously wanted to save him from witnessing the following scene, commenced speaking in a voice as if she was telling a fairy tale.

"For the duration of their lives neither Amy nor Dennis was ever able to forget or talk about the horror of the following twenty minutes, watching the water rise and finally cover the heavily injured man who could no longer flee. Due to the cold water the dying man regained enough consciousness to notice them. As he realized what was happening, he tried to beg them to help him. He could not understand why they sat still, barely a metre above him and didn't even reply. There was no long struggle of death. His arms flailed desperately a few times. The last bit Amy saw of him was the look of uncomprehending horror in his bloodshot eyes. Then water washed over him with a conclusive rush."

"And now, Raggedy-Amy, let's treat your wound," Harry heard Tom Riddle's voice again, sounding terribly pleased. And then he could also see him again.

Riddle bent over Amy's swollen foot, moving away the heavy shoe and taking off the woollen stocking, and with his fingers touched those two tiny dark spots surrounded by the red swelling. Then he bent down and sucked on the wound. When he loosed hold on her foot and looked up to her smiling, with dark glowing eyes, he said, "From now on you shall be my servants and you must do whatever I tell you to!"

"And even though this seemed to be nothing but a childish order," Professor Harper interrupted, "Amy could already feel that there was much more behind it back then."

The fog lifted and they were again standing in Professor Harper's office.

"How can you know all this? Where did you get this – what was it? A memory?" Harry burst out.

"It _was_ a memory – this person's last important memory that one could get. All other memories in her mind were somewhat covered – by the picture of this very locket. The memory belonged to my mother," Professor Harper said quietly, "My mother Amy Benson."

"Raggedy-Amy Benson," said Harry as if in a trance, "R.A.B.!"

"R.A.B.?" asked Professor Harper. "Is this how the letter was signed? What an odd coincidence."

Harry gave her a questioning look, anxious for further explanations.

"Raggedy-Amy, that's what the children in the orphanage called her. Quite possible that he gave her this name. I, for one, have heard him myself address her this way."

Harry looked up as if electrified. "You have – you have met him? Him, Vold-, Tom Riddle?"

Harper looked at him, sneeringly. "So to speak, yes. But before I continue I want to know some things from you first, Mr Potter. First of all, where did you get this locket? And did you really want to make _this_ your Magical Weapon?"

"I carry it around all the time, anyway. It's like a warning to myself," Harry said, evasively.

"Well, it _is_ a magical item. Look!" She wiped her wand over the piece of jewellery that lay on Harry's palm. And suddenly it seemed bigger and heavier and – Harry screamed. This was just impossible! There it was – the snakelike S of Slytherin on the surface that had been smooth golden before.

"No," Harry whispered. "So this was not for nothing. So this is the real –" He stopped, thoughts spinning around in his head like a thunder storm.

"Horcrux?" Professor Harper finished his sentence quietly. "No, Mr Potter. Unfortunately it is not. But now you owe me a few more explanations!"

Confused, Harry looked up from the locket that had changed its look unexpectedly to what he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve back then. The look of the locket that he had seen hanging around Merope Gaunt's neck and later in Voldemort's own hand, in Hepzibah Smith's crammed room. For a moment he had hoped that Dumbledore's last trip had not been in vain. "But –"

There was a knock on the office door. After Harper's "Come in!" a first-year put her head shyly through the crack in the door. "Headmaster McGonagall would like to talk to you, Professor Harper. She said it is urgent!"

Harper stood up reluctantly. She hesitated for a moment and then she said, "Alright, I'm on my way. Mr Potter, we will continue as soon as possible! In the meantime, keep this locket safe and don't talk about it to anybody!"

When the door had been opened, a draught softly moved the cloth around the thing on the wall and uncovered a little edge of it for a moment. Harry could recognize a golden frame and a piece of a surface shimmering in a dark bronze. It certainly was a mirror.

"And out you go!" said Harper, standing in the door.

Harry slowly left her office. When he put the locket back into his pocket, he wasn't even surprised to see that it had changed back to its prior, ordinary shape.

oooOooo

"R.A.B.?" Ron asked, his eyes wide open, half an hour later in the common room. "Does this mean it was her _mother_ – this Amy – what was her name again?"

"Yes – I don't know," said Harry, who was still confused. "She said something like – that this was an odd coincident or so. No idea, what she meant."

"And she really told you that she had bought this locket herself?" asked Hermione. She was sitting on two tables that were pushed together, a tangled mass of written parchment rolls in front of her, left and right of it a pack of books. A glass frog was enthroned on the parchment that she had just been writing on, as Harry could see. Ron was lounging in an armchair next to her and obviously tried to stomach Harry's report.

"You find _that_ the most remarkable thing about this whole story?" Harry asked. "What do you think about the fact that our new teacher in Defence knows Voldemort personally? What's even worse: that her mother had been his very first servant?"

"Maybe the _Quibbler_ was right this time?" chipped in Ron and caught a bad look from Hermione, who was plucking her quill and pondering.

"If she had bought the fake locket and apparently put a spell on it, then she's got something to do with the disappearance of the real horcrux in any case."

"How do we know which side she is on?" Harry just had to ask this question. "She knew Voldemort and is still alive, safe and sound! And she is teacher for Defence! How many teachers did we have who were more interested in Dark Arts than in Defence against it?"

"I know what you mean, but isn't it paranoid? She has an outstanding, international reputation –"

"Exactly, she's been working overseas for years and never been interested in Hogwarts – until now! Don't you find that suspicious? What is she doing here all of a sudden?"  
"– even the Ministry trusts her – McGonagall herself employed her!" Hermione didn't let him interrupt her.

"And Dumbledore employed Snape! And the Order affiliated with him! How naive are you?" Harry threw himself on a sofa.

"Don't talk so loud!" Hermione said warningly.

In another corner of the room sat a group of fourth-years who were watching Harry. For a moment Harry considered telling his friends about the anonymous note he had found earlier that day. But then it appeared foolish to him. It's wasn't new that some people would rather not see him here.

"You can't mistrust everybody! After all Professor Harper has told you all sorts of things – and not tried to make you tell her anything."

"Because she was interrupted!"

"If you mistrust her, then you should try to find out more about her! She used to be a student here so there must be records. And people who must have known her and so on. Why don't you make an effort yourself and look through boring stuff like piles of newspapers and old yearbooks – there are tons in the library and the attic." All of a sudden Hermione sounded angry. And Harry had to agree with her. So far it had been she who had done this more boring stuff.

"I'm sorry, Hermione!" he said ruefully. "You're right. By the way you were also right with the mirror on Professor Harper's wall," he added quietly. "I saw it just when the wind moved the cloth a little." He folded his arms under his head and stared at the ceiling. "What shall I do when she wants to talk to me again? In no case can I tell her how I got the locket!"

"Well, this will be your first try in applied Occlumency," said Ron.

"Oh come on, she's a highly qualified Legilimens –"

"– who only works when she is paid, don't forget that!"

"How would I know who's paying her!"

"I rather think that she's personally interested in this thing, apparently she was involved –," chipped in Hermione.

"If it's true what she says! You said it yourself that she has a skeleton in the closet."

"Barely her mother's," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Is it plain to you that her story about the cave –"

"It wasn't a _story_, Hermione. It was – like in the Pensieve. I was _there_!"

"– so this _memory_, that it corroborates Hagrid's story yesterday? Apparently Voldemort returned to this cave whenever he wanted to do some kind of ritual! Maybe what Harper showed you was some sort of impetus."

"Are you playing profiler again?" asked Harry smirking but actually he admired her for always getting to the point. "You mean, he always made the Horcruxes in this cave?"

"That's quite possible! By the way I'm quite certain that there is a ritual described in _Nightworlds_."

"So you got on with the Latin translation?"

"Not really," Hermione answered grimly. "Sanguis, so 'blood' is the only word I understood in this Horcrux-chapter. It's repeated often enough! But look at this." She took the heavy book the grey cover of which had the title _A History of Magic_, and skimmed through the pages from the end to the beginning. "Here – where is it – ah, _Hostia_ – _Hortus_ – there it is, _Horcrux_! Look!"

All three of them bent over the narrow written page. Many ancient illustrations adorned the broad border. Hermione's finger pointed to a picture showing a group of naked people surrounding an altar in a circle. At the altar stood a man holding an axe in his raised hand. With his other hand he was pressing a rooster on the altar. This figure was the only one who was dressed in this group and wore a full-length cloak that was patterned with cryptic signs, and crown-like headpiece. Opposite to him a man with a goblet in his hand could be seen.

"Do you get what I mean?"

Both nodded. This was similar to what Hagrid had told them. The long paragraph next to the illustration was entitled _Solvere_.

"This just means 'loosen'. It could mean all sort of things," Hermione said.

"Isn't there a comment on it? I thought Grindelwald has commented on the old text," Harry asked.

"It only says that Slytherin obviously refers to much older literary sources from the orient. And academic blah blah: obviously Grindelwald assumes that every reader understands this Latin stuff and discusses in his notes almost solely where Slytherin might have gotten his texts from and what different texts say and so on."

"I never thought to hear these words from you: academic blah blah," Ron said pleased.

"I think it helps us a lot," said Harry who noticed how frustrated Hermione was. "Do you think it says something about how to destroy a Horcrux?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Give me a few days, Harry. Or try it yourself with the dictionary." Suddenly she looked at her watch and jumped up. "Look at the time! Sorry, guys! I need to go to Slughorn to discuss my essay for the scholarship committee," she said while hastily organising and gathering her parchment rolls. Finally she closed _Nightworlds_ and put it among her other books.

"Will I see you later?" Ron asked.

She glanced at him sheepishly. "Today I absolutely have to read _Wand and Magical Weapon_. I don't know if I'll have time, Ron!"

"Since Slughorn has recommended you for this scholarship, you don't have time for anything, don't you see?" Ron said in such an irritable way that even Harry recognized that they weren't discussing this issue for the first time.

"Oh Ron, please," she moaned irritated. "You know how important it is for me. Don't start this again!" With these words she stormed off.

Ron kicked the chair he had just been sitting on. "She's avoiding me, man. And not only because of this scholarship." He looked angry and frustrated, and Harry would rather have slipped away. He took a sneaky look at Ron. What was going on?

"Maybe that's because you're – ehm – hurting her feelings?" Harry dared to say.

"_What_?"

"All I say is: Luna! Seriously, I thought you wanted – well – to go out with her or something."

"This is just – well, right – I think she's really nice – but –"

"Doesn't matter. It's none of my business," Harry answered, feeling embarrassed and realising that he was getting angry himself.

"You're right with _that_ –" Ron said. "But since you started it I can tell you about it!"

"No, you don't have to! That's your business!"

"But you've kept dropping hints that you think I'm an insensitive git, haven't you? Well, truth is, Hermione's been brushing me off. For weeks. You heard all this taunting. I tell you, I don't understand all this to and fro and I think it's stupid. But I don't see why I should always be the one to blame."

Harry was squirming. He just didn't want to hear that. "Alright! Sorry, if I've said something mean. I'm going to lunch – are you coming, too?"

oooOooo

Harry waited the whole day for Professor Harper to call him to her office. But nothing happened. They had Transfiguration class with Professor McGonagall in the afternoon and after that he spent an hour in the library searching without any result for a spell to open locked books. Then he decided to find out more about Hekate Harper's past in this school and asked Madam Pince for old yearbooks and newspapers. She just gave him a withering look and explained that she had no time today to go back to the archive again.

In the evening he was sick to death of it and was craving wild Quidditch practise. Half-and-half he had been hoping that Professor McGonagall would lift the Quidditch ban since the Defensive Spells and Charms were working again. But no, nothing!

While he was walking back from dinner he wondered again what he was doing here at all. Absorbed in grim thoughts he followed Ron to the Gryffindor's common room. As they were standing in front of the portrait, the Fat Lady asked businesslike, "Do you want to bet, too?"

Harry and Ron realised that the wall behind the Lady was tightly written. Dates, names and numbers.

"Bet? On what?" Harry asked confused.

"When young Neville's furuncle is going to burst. I already have over forty bets."

"Are they crazy or what?" Harry asked Ron. "Will they stop at nothing?"

"Ehm – no idea."

"Well, with _your_ estimation – yes, it was October 10th, wasn't it? – you're out on a limb by the way, Mr Weasley," the Fat Lady said.

Harry shook his head. "Anyway, I won't bet on it!" he said.

"As you please," said the Lady in a sweet tone. "Well, password?"

"Vibrissae trimmer," Harry answered irritated.

"No!" The Lady smiled and shook her curly head.

"Furuncle squeeze," Ron murmured. The portrait swung open, and the two of them got in.

"That's what he wanted, Harry! He's making some sort of research project out of it. Why shouldn't we have some fun with it? And us being in the same dormitory! What if this thing bursts at night when he's asleep? I dare say leaves will be growing in our faces in the morning!"

"Professor Sprout has said it's safe once they're nesting!"

"And how does she know that?"

In the common room it was crowded and noisy. Some second-years were giggling while practising a dance to booming music on the radio. Hermione sat in one corner over her books and looked irritated. Neville cowered on the windowsill and stared out into the rising darkness. Harry went over to him. "How's your cheek?" he asked.

"Don't worry. It doesn't hurt."

"We thought the beast had landed on your arm."

"Me too. But obviously it changed its mind last night. In the meantime it has caught four Sluffers. But not one toad. The Nestling apparently only likes warm-blooded animals."

Harry felt a certain kind of certain admiration for Neville's eagerness.

"Nevertheless, Trevor definitely stays away from me. Every time I enter the room, he runs off."

Has this ever been different?, wondered Harry who had seen Neville's toad Trevor on the run all the time.

Then he saw the moon rising over the Forbidden Forest, huge and light and completely round. Long, inky strips of clouds were swimming in the dark blue of the evening sky and moving in front of the silver ball.

When the noise from the radio suddenly stopped, Harry thought he could hear a wolf's howl from the Forbidden Forrest. It sounded scary, sad and lonely.


	13. Lunatics

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**Lunatics**

**  
****(Translated by Coombs, annebanane and TeeCeeJay)**

The following day started off quite calm in a way but became more and more an endless series of unavailing efforts. When Ron and Harry – for once they were reasonably on time – arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast, Professor McGonagall was about to make some announcements.

"The former seventh-years will leave us again today after their last exam," she said smiling at the pale, over-worked faces here and there at the tables. "We all hope to make up for your graduation ceremony on a more adequate date."

"You look terrible, mate," said Ron as he sat down at the table and emptied a bowl of scrambled eggs on his plate.

"I barely slept," said Harry. "All the time I've been thinking about how I can avoid Harper today. Only solution I can think of is the hospital wing. Do you still have some of this Skiving Snackbox stuff?"

"Do you believe I keep that? If I ate it accidentally – no, thanks." He shovelled eggs and bacon on toast with ravenous appetite into his mouth. "You gan predend az if, can'd you? I mean, dey won'd follow you to ze bafroom, will dey?"

"Hm," Harry mumbled, doubtfully. He knew that the hospital wing was no actual and – first and foremost – no permanent solution for his problem.

"And the third-years will have a free period today," said Professor McGonagall. "Defence Against The Dark Arts had to be cancelled; the lesson will be caught up on next week. Professor Harper was summoned to the Ministry unexpectedly and will be back this evening at the earliest."

Harry almost dropped his glass of juice. Ron grinned at him. "It's going to be your lucky day today!"

"Now she must only announce that Quidditch-season will start again today," Harry said fervently.

As if the headmistress had heard him she went on: "Although I can fortunately inform you that our Shielding Charms are fully functional again, we haven't decided yet about the resumption of the Quidditch practice."

"Well, you can't have everything," said Harry and set out to have breakfast at last. It was only a postponement but even for this he was grateful. He needed to find out more about Hekate Harper today. If she was on the right side, she might help him a lot. For example with the damn Black book, that didn't let itself open.

"Where's Hermione by the way?" asked Ron, looking around the sparsely occupied Gryffindor table.

"Guess, she's off already. We didn't oversleep but we're not early either," said Harry. He tried to eat his toast with three bites, reading _Advanced Transfiguration, Volume 2_ with one eye.

When they left the Great Hall a few minutes later – Ron was still chewing – Luna walked past them. "Hello Harry! Thanks for the hint with the Gillyweed! I found myself some," she said smiling kindly.

"Haven't you put that nonsense out of your mind yet?" Harry asked harshly. "If you want a really good hint, then please: Leave this swimming-in-the-lake-thing! It's really dangerous, particularly at night."

But Luna had already moved on and was waving at them over her shoulder. Harry shook his head. "She's beyond help. You should make it plain to her that this is just silly."

"Why me?" Ron asked indignantly. "She's only doing what she thinks is right anyway."

oooOooo

Thenceforward the day went downhill.

Harry earned an indignant snort from Professor McGonagall when he turned the little model house, on which they had to practice room transfiguration, into a fish tank instead of expanding the bathroom. When he tried to correct it, it turned into a birdcage and a rather astonishing amount of greenish water gushed through the cage bars – and of course over Harry.

At lunchtime Harry went to the library and asked Madam Pince again to allow him to have a look at the archive, but without success.

"I've got a meeting in a few minutes with a very important bookseller. I have to close now," she said sharply.

Even Harry's promises not to take anything from the archive and just to stay there until she came back didn't help.

Afterwards he spent another unavailing half an hour trying to open the Black book – he gradually started to develop some sort of aggression against it and he could narrowly overcome the temptation to just bend open the spiral snakes of the lock.

At least Hermione seemed to make progress in her Latin. In the afternoon before Charms class, she whispered that later she had to tell them something.

But before, they had to spend two quite joyless hours at the greenhouse catching all the Sluffers – to find out that in the meantime on all of them a Nestling was settled – and afterwards collecting all the toads that had proven to be Sluffer-resistent. Hagrid set them free in the forest again while the Sluffers stayed in the greenhouse where they had already dug long tunnels.

Then they were supposed to pick all those Nestling bags that had not yet torn open, a task nauseating Lavender and which only Neville started stoically.

Professor Sprout inveighed and scoffed and explained over and over again that they were safe underneath their protective clothing but most of the students just needed one look at Neville's bluish, swollen cheek to convince them to help harvesting the Nestling's berries.

When they finally left the greenhouse exhausted and sweaty it was almost time for dinner.

Harry gradually became desperate because he still had no idea how to find out more about Harper or how to sneak out of her imminent interrogation. Therefore he hurried to the library shortly before it would close, hoping Madam Pince might have changed her mind or in view of the oncoming closing-time be in better mood – but in vain. She looked at him grimly and explained that she'd be closing now.

On his way back Harry passed by the staff room with its door open. He could see Professor Slughorn and Lupin sitting together at a small table, obviously being lost in a relaxed conversation. He smiled when Lupin looked at him.

"See you tomorrow afternoon, Harry!" he said.

For one moment Harry wondered if he should show the Black book to Lupin tomorrow. He might possibly open it. But he abandoned this thought. He was too afraid that he had to hand over the control in this matter and by now, he was sick to death of any form of paternalism no matter how well meant it was.

Hence he saluted back and hurried on. The Wolfsbane Potion seemed to work very well.

At dinner he decided to go to the library that night hidden under the Invisibility Cloak and get himself those books. There _had_ to be something.

oooOooo

Later that evening they were sitting in the common room.

"So, listen," Hermione said in a low voice. "I know now what it is there in the man's goblet on the picture. It's called Twye Potion. Or that's what Grindelwald calls it. He describes in the annotation that Salazar recommended the Cracked Fire Boletus, while older sources prefer the Dogsmorel."

Ron and Harry looked at her, waiting for more. Impatiently she pulled her dog-eared copy of Spore's _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ out of the pile.

"Here: _The Cracked Fire Boletus – grows only on forest soil–_ blah blah – _induces a state of euphoria, used for hallucinogenic potions, occasionally recommended for curing certain diseases, but particularly preferred in Dark Magic. Quickens pulse and breathing rate, heavy perspiration and nausea are general side effects when consumed._ – Suits quite well, doesn't it?"

"But what is this potion for?" Ron asked.

"Well, I can only think about this theoretically. But it appears in this paragraph that is captioned _Detaching_, that what this man drinks is obviously the potion," said Hermione, being disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm, and pointed at the illustration they had viewed yesterday: the man with the goblet in his hand.

"Do you think this is the bloke who wants to make the Horcrux – the murderer then?" asked Ron, feeling uncomfortable. "And who is the other one, the man in the cloak?"

"I suppose he's some sort of – master of ceremonies. If this potion seems to cause hallucinations it might make sense to let someone else perform the ritual."

"But there was no master of ceremonies in Hagrid's story about the cave," Harry said.

"He said, however, that Riddle drank something. And the girl had to kill the animal, right?"

"That's true," Harry approved.

"And it was obviously his first Horcrux. He didn't have a club of Death Eaters surrounding him yet. But I've been thinking about this Twye Potion," she said and looked at them triumphantly. "This part of the ritual is apparently called _Detaching_. So perhaps you need this potion to detach this piece of the soul from the person's body! Perhaps this is why it's called Twye Potion because it splits something in two, understand?"

"That's what the mushroom looks like, by the way," said Ron and looked like he was dislocating his jaw-bone as he yawned. "Like two potatoes that are joined in the middle. Or that didn't manage to separate. Or something like that."

Somehow this was funny in this regard, so they chuckled.

"The next paragraph is called _Transfer,_ by the way," Hermione continued. "I just assume that it describes how to transfer the detached piece of soul to – to some object. An object that turns into a Horcrux. That makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it sounds good to me!" Harry agreed. It just doesn't help me to find those Horcruxes or to destroy them, he thought, but didn't say it. Hermione looked too enthusiastic.

"Of what else does it consist, have you found out yet?" he asked instead.

"Ehm – if I understood it right, hair and perhaps cut finger nails, among other things. Apparently they are burnt beforehand," she said grimacing. "But that's not unusual with Dark Arts. Those things are part of the person for – or against – whom you perform the ritual. Most of the time they use –"

"– blood," completed Ron and yawned again.

"Exactly," Hermione said surprised.

"That's what Harper told us yesterday in Defence. I bet we're going to need hair and finger nails too for making our weapons."

"That reminds me that I have to do my homework," Hermione said, looking nervously at the clock.

"Us, too," said Harry and Ron nodded. "But you've really made some progress. Good ideas!"

Hermione smiled happily while they sat down with her at the table and rummaged for their books and parchment rolls.

oooOooo

Fortunately it was very quiet in the common room. But nonetheless Harry could hardly concentrate on the essay for Professor McGonagall. Furthermore his thoughts wandered to Ginny all the time. He needed to write back – hard to believe that he had postponed it until now! But when he finally sat in front of the blank parchment roll nothing would come to his mind. "Do you know if the owls get through to France?" he asked eventually.

"If you wait long enough. But you can use Express Mail, then Hedwig will fly to the next station where a different owl gets her letter and flies on – and so on," answered Hermione, looking up from her book. "You finally writing to Ginny?"

"Well, we haven't been here for a week!" Harry answered back, feeling guilty. "And things were very busy around here!"

"I was only saying," said Hermione. "I bet Ginny's already waiting for your answer."

"I bet she already has something going with Etienne," Ron interjected grimly. "Sorry, Harry. But I found it odd that she first refused to go to Beauxbatons and then, no sooner she saw this bloke than she went to France."

"I would say it's just another matter of your point of view," Hermione said sharply. "I don't believe that Ginny's already forgotten about Harry."

Harry was only half-listening to their argy-bargy. He himself was surprised by his behaviour. When he had received Ginny's letter he had wanted to write back immediately. And now he couldn't even remember what he had wanted to tell her. He sat there, staring at the parchment roll and tried to remember how it had been with Ginny – back then. An eternity ago.

It was silent for a while.

"Ron? Are you alright?" asked Hermione suddenly in an alarmed tone.

Harry looked up. Ron sat there, his head in his hands, staring glass-eyed into space.

"Oh, no! Do you think he's having another – another fit again?"

"Fit? Who's having a fit?" asked Dean who was just walking past them.

"Ron! Can you hear us? Boy, he's not responding anymore!"

"We have to find his medicine. I hope he's got it in his trunk!" said Harry and ran off to the dormitory.

Meanwhile in the common room Ron and Hermione were surrounded by other students, while Hermione still tried to wake Ron up. Lavender stood yammering next to her and throwing angry looks at her, while she patted Ron's hand. But Ron missed this impressive moment, taking centre stage undisputed and still staring into space.

"That's a joke, isn't it?" Seamus said. "He's just playing act!"

"No! In the holidays he had some sort of – magical accident. And we had hoped it wouldn't happen again!"

"Shouldn't we call Madam Pomfrey?" asked Neville anxiously, whose articulation had become a little unclear.

"He's got medicine against it," replied Hermione. "We'll wait if it works."

Harry came back. He had just emptied Ron's messy trunk to the floor and really found the little bottle containing the medicine after it had rolled out of a shoe.

They instilled fifteen drops in him, the maximum dose the healer Melanie Raeburn had prescribed him. Then they waited anxiously. After a while Ron seemed to relax, the glassy expression disappeared from his eyes – he yawned.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Lavender kissed him on the forehead which made the others cheer. That brought him back for a short time.

"What you doin'?" he mumbled. "'ll go to bed."

And without caring about the laughter around him he went up the boy's dormitory like a sleepwalker.

"You reckon he'll be alright?" Harry asked.

"I'm turning in too," said Neville. "So I can keep an eye on him." His left cheek was visibly swollen and bluish coloured. Harry could hardly look at him. Thinking of the movement in the Nestlings bags in the greenhouse made him feel nauseous.

"Thanks Neville! I've got a lot of homework to do."

oooOooo

It grew late, and at some point only Harry, Hermione and a lonely fifth-year were sitting in the common room.

"Exams panic," whispered Hermione throwing a meaningful look at the bent back.

"The year just started!"

"Believe me, I know the signs! It's the disease of the O.W.L. year," she said gloomily.

"Don't be silly, he's fallen asleep!" answered Harry. And then they both heard a loud snore and grinned at each other.

Harry sighed and decided to read Hermione into his plans. "I have to know more about Harper tonight. I certainly won't get another delay – tomorrow she'll be back and I bet, first thing she'll do is to order me to her office. And I just need to know what to think of her."

"What are you up to? And why haven't you tried in the library first – seriously, it's totally useful!"

"I know that. But Madam Pince is mad at me since she caught me eating chocolate in her holy halls – really bears a grudge against me. Anyway, every time she sees me she digs her heels in. She told me that too many year books are borrowed – to Luna I guess, and she can't take more of them from the archive." He bristled with anger. The reasons why important things sometimes fail are often incredible. "I will go there tonight under the Invisibility Cloak and have a look around. It's not the first time, though."

"I'll come with you," she said determinedly. "I think I'll find the books faster than you."

Harry didn't know whether to be happy or irritated about it. "The Invisibility Cloak hardly covers the both of us."

"As soon as we reach the library we won't need it anymore."

"Perhaps – perhaps we should go to Harper's office too," Harry pondered. "Have a look under that cloth for instance."

"At first to the library. I don't know – it's a teacher's office – what if we get caught –!"

"Well, then, to the library first. Let's go!" Only once that day Harry wanted to be successful. "I hope Filch is fast asleep. Wait, I'll go and check on Ron!" he remembered and hurried to his dormitory.

Neville, Ron, Dean and Seamus were lying in their beds, sleeping. Ron was tangled in the usual chaos of blankets and pillows, breathing calmly.

When he came back to the common room, Hermione looked out of the window. "See? It's completely clear outside – and bright! The moon's right up above the castle."

For one moment both looked magnetised out into the night. Deep silence and bluish moonlight everywhere – Harry thought that even from the point where he stood, he could see every single leaf over at the forest's edge.

"Look! Is that Crookshanks?" he asked.

"Probably! Yes, I'm quite sure it's him. He's always outside on nights as clear as this one," Hermione said, still lost in the sight of the moonlit landscape.

Harry watched the big cat swaggering quite elegantly over Ravenclaw's roof ridge. "Let's go now if you want to come," he said, less charmingly and pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. He still hadn't quit the habit of carrying it around all the time.

Hermione turned away from the windows, gave him a friendly punch in his side and pulled half of the Invisibility Cloak over her head. "Do you think one could sew on some more inches?" she asked while she tried to cover most of her body with it.

"If one could, Hermione," Harry replied compellingly, "then you could make a whole new one for yourself! And please put your hair in your collar or so, it's in my face all the time!"

For a moment he thought he had seen a hurt expression on her face as they looked at each other under the cloak. But then she turned away and they set off.

oooOooo

It was very quiet in the house. Only gentle sleeping noises came from the paintings beside the doors and in the corridors. Just in one picture, showing a study crowded with books, a group of older wizards and witches had settled around a desk and played cards. They were pretty drunken, laughing broadly and hooting loudly. The parchment rolls that undoubtedly had lain on the desk, were carelessly spread on the floor. The two inhabitants of the neighbour portraits watched the goings with indignant silence.

They reached the library without any difficulties, where they took a look around, checking all the corridors and corners and with a sigh of relief they tore the cloak off their heads. In the dim light of their wands they moved on.

"The archive is here in the back. At least the small one, and the year-books of the last forty years are stored here, I think," said Hermione in a low voice and went on passing the silent rows of bookshelves and the area with the restricted books. They opened a door and entered a dark room with no windows, whose walls were covered by bookshelves from the floor to the ceiling. In addition there were some chests in the back, equally filled with books. Big gaps yawned in the bookshelf Hermione was now determinedly heading for.

"Gosh, Luna really took lots of them! What does she need them for? Does she want to reconstruct all our family trees with them?"

Their eyes moved over the books which were ordered by years.

"When do you think Harper graduated from here?"

"I _know_ that. In 1980. She went to Padua that fall."

"Great. Then we only need the book of 1980."

"And here it is! 1980 till 1984!" Hermione exclaimed in triumph.

"Do you see the one of 1978, too?" asked Harry, to whom it suddenly occurred that he could look up his parents as well.

"No, I'm sorry." She handed him the volume with the year-books and he sat down to search for the entry of Hekate Harper in the light of his wand.

A few short lines gave every student's birth date, house and the parents' names, followed by a more or less tasteful individual appraisal written by classmates. Harry's eyes flitted over the pages until they finally caught the wanted name.

"Here, got it!" he hissed to Hermione. She read along over his shoulder.

"_Hekate Harper, born March 24__th__, 1962; Ravenclaw. Parents: Amy and Jeremiah Harper (deceased)."_ they read, followed by:

"_Long live __Hekate Harper – our Queen of thieves!_

_We know that you will consider this denotation as an honorary title, and that's how it's meant to be, otherwise we wouldn't mention it here!_

_Quidditch wasn't your cup of tea, but you realized its importance and so you stole the Golden Snitch when Ravenclaw searcher Anthony Gregorian got sick with stomach flu right before the all-dominant match! And after the Ravenclaws beating the Slytherins you hung the cloaks of the Slytherin team on the Astronomy tower. Unconfirmed rumour has it that Professor Cassander's crystal ball fell prey to you in our third year – she never found it again … the list could be continued for a while, but we want to leave it at this._

_You made us laugh quite often and you created new standards in fashion with your ripped seams and your knee-length sweaters._

_Additionally you managed to tell us so many contradictory if not fantastic rumours about your parents and your home that nobody really knows whether you're the daughter of Aurors from abroad, or of British habitual thieves or just of overseas Muggles. We can only suggest that the truth is somewhere in between. _

_But we want to honour you adequately and so we explicitly mention your outstanding results in Defence and Potions. Professor Slughorn recommended you for a scholarship abroad, and we predict a great future for you – especially if you should turn your hobby into a profession!"_

„Oh, just great," said Harry. „Queen of thieves! How very confidence inspiring."

„Do you think they always write such nonsense about people in the year-books?" Hermione wrinkled her nose in disdain. „In this case I don't think I want to know what kind of stuff Luna pins on us."

„This hasn't turned out to be of any use to us now, has it."

„What did you expect? _Joined the Death Eaters after her final year_ – or something like that?"

„She isn't a Death Eater. I've seen her arms. No dark mark."

„Can I have another look," Hermione requested as she pulled the book from his hands.

„Are any of her own books – this thing about the Demetors and what-not – in here as well?"

„Sure. You'll have to go over to the library to look for them though," she murmured while she continued to leaf through the year-book.

Harry returned to the library where the moon cast a little light to illuminate the passages between the shelves near the window. He went to the window and stopped to think where it would be sensible to start searching. By that time Hermione had come to the door again.

„Look at this, Harper was in the same class as Regulus Black! He was Sirius' brother wasn't he?"

„Yeah! Let me see!"

She was about to sit in the window seat and use the moon light to read when she stopped in mid-motion. „Harry, look! Somebody's in the lake –!"

He also looked out of the window. The lake was shimmering in the moon light and it was easy to spot a movement because it was obvious that the surface was completely smooth otherwise. „Luna!" he spoke what both had thought. „Oh boy, I thought she had realised that it was a stupid idea! Apart from that, wasn't the full moon yesterday?

„I suppose. Maybe it was cloudy?"

„Come on, we really have to get her out of there! Or at least be near by when she needs help and she surely will before too long!"

Hermione reluctantly replaced the book, closed the door of the archive and then they started to run, hidden under the invisibility cloak.

When they stepped out of the front doors and carefully descended the stone stairs, they entered a strange world comprised of black shadows and a kind of blue light that seemed to cover everything like a luminescent liquid. The brightness gave the impression of daylight in the middle of the night or perhaps what the light of day might be on a strange, far-away planet nearly out of reach of the rays of its sun.

The intellect he had employed to read books only a few minutes previously was switched off or at least overlaid by a sense that seemed to reach much deeper, be more comprehensive. This wasn't an enchanted, romantic, moon-lit night but something archaic, uncanny, strange and not related to magic.

Hermione was quiet, too.

He felt anxious as well as excited, was on edge with every nerve-ending activated, his skin seemed to prickle. The scent of the forest soil and the withering leaves, the somewhat green smell of the peaceful lake – he never experienced any of this so clearly during the day. For a short moment he asked himself if the animals that hunted – or were being hunted – felt the same at night.

As they heard a long drawn howl coming from the forest, the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. _Lupin_, he thought and was sure that Hermione was thinking about him too although they both didn't say.

When they reached the banks of the lake they could clearly see the form of a person swimming. For some reason or other they shrank from calling out to the person but they were quite sure that it was Luna.

The narrow path at the water's edge was slippery and partly covered with dense scrub und lurking roots. Still maintaining their silence, they followed Luna's swim path on the banks. Despite the full moon and its reflection which they could see on the surface of the lake, it was fairly dark under these trees.

Hermione was just climbing over a gnarled root when she promptly caught herself in the net of its finer extensions. She struggled helplessly for a short while and then fell over.

„Ouch, damn!"

Harry turned around. „Did you sprain anything?" he asked in a whisper while she rubbed one of her knees. He held out his hand and helped her get up.

Then something strange happened. Instead of letting her hand go, he pulled Hermione close. He heard her startled breath and then he kissed her. He hadn't planned this, it had simply happened. And now they just stood there, kissing.

„Sorry," he said when he finally pulled away in utter confusion. Immediately he realised that he could hardly have said anything more idiotic.

„I wanted that, too," she said in a queer quaver. „Wanted to know what it's like."

„And – how was it?"

„I – don't know," she answered, still using this unusual voice.

Harry didn't know either. He only knew that his heart was beating like crazy and his face was flushed. Ron, he thought incoherently. This is the end of our friendship.

„But this won't work, will it?" she added.

He shook his head. To be honest, there was nothing he wanted more than to kiss her again right now. „We better forget this," he said instead and despite his constricting throat.

He asked himself how that could have happened as they awkwardly continued on their path together, taking care to keep some distance between them.

To kiss Hermione was like jumping off a high tower: You might ask yourself what it would be like but as long as you were clearly aware of your actions, you didn't. But now he had done it and couldn't really say why. All he knew was that he was still falling.

He kept his eyes on the lake mechanically but he didn't see anything. He was still trying to even out his breathing. This was betrayal, he thought. Betrayal. Betrayal. Betrayal.

The word showed up in his mind like an illuminated sign keeping the rhythm of his strides. But though it might be betrayal, it was more vivid and tempting than anything he had ever experienced. This scared him and the fear then magnified the dark jubilation he felt inside.

„Can you still see Luna?" Hermione finally asked. Her voice sounded as shaky as Harry's legs felt and hardly came past the noise his rushing blood made in his ears.

„Sorry?"

„Luna! Can you still see her?"

He pulled himself together and concentrated his eyes on the water. But the shimmering path of the moon's reflection lay there undisturbed. „No," he said.

They stopped walking and intently watched the surface of the lake.

„Look, over there!" Hermione suddenly called out, startled.

He followed her line of vision. There was someone on the other side of the lake. It was quite a way off but the moon was bright and both could see the person's white hair.

"Harper!" said Harry. „That's really the last thing we need right now! What's she doing here?"

„She's probably just returned! And – it looks as if – she had –"

„There, did you see that too?"

„Yes! That must be Luna! Damn!"

Now they heard distant screaming, so faint, nearly swallowed by the wide, moonlit countryside all around. They saw a person in the middle of the lake flailing her arms; they could even see the sprays of water that the flailing caused glittering in the moonlight. The person's head submersed and came back up. This time her scream could be heard clearly. She was calling for help.

„What are we to do!" Hermione plaintively cried out in desperation. „Why didn't we take our brooms out with us?"

„I'll swim out there!" Harry stated firmly and waded into the water before Hermione could reply. It felt like ice and numbed his legs like a shock. He couldn't understand how Luna had been able to swim in the lake for so long.

„Harry, that's crazy! Stay here! We'll think of something else. I'll summon a broom!"

And she did. Meanwhile Harry gasped as he glided into the water. The cold nearly paralysed him. He tried to reach the struggling person who seemed so far away. He forced himself not to think of the creatures that inhabited these dark and icy depths.

„Harry! Look!" Hermione called.

Harper – if it was her – had apparently not forgotten her broom, dashed across the water and grabbed a struggling girl.

„Calm down!" Professor Harper could clearly be heard saying. „Stop fighting! You're safe now!" She dragged the dripping wet Luna onto her broom and slowly headed for the bank of the lake, some distance away from Harry and Hermione.

As Harry came out of the water, shivering, something came crashing through the branches of the nearby trees and dropped at their feet on the water's edge. It was one of the school brooms.

„If you had waited a moment!" she said and pulled Harry up the low embankment.

He sank down to the ground and was shaking with cold. Helplessly Hermione stood next to him. What had happened before faded into the background in the course of this dramatic incident. But now, for a moment, being sure that Luna had been saved, everything came rushing back and paralysed Hermione. She was so confused that all the energy and determination that was usually her own, was gone. At last she pulled her cloak off and wrapped it around Harry.

„You have to get inside immediately. Take the broom and fly back!"

„No," Harry said through chattering teeth. „First I want to know what Luna is doing. And – what Harper is up to!"

And then something like a cannon ball flew through the underwood – and jumped into Hermione's arms.

„Crookshanks! What –" That was as far as she got before he sprang down again, dashed a few steps away and came back again, hitting her legs with his paws. „What is all that about – I _can't_ right now, Crookshanks – hey, will you stop that – stop it!"

With an angry hiss he tore away leaving Hermione standing where she was, shaking her head. „He must be going crazy! That's something he's never done before!"

Harry had gotten off the ground. Without a further word they hurried along the path at the banks of the lake and headed for where they saw Harper and Luna standing. Luna was clutching her arm and groaned.

„You need to go to the infirmary," they heard Harper state in a firm voice. „That is something that should not be taken lightly."

Both turned in surprise as they heard Harry and Hermione stagger toward them. Professor Harper faced them with a serious expression. „You, too? What are you all doing out here at this time of day? As far as I know the rules are quite clear! It is strictly forbidden to be outside after nightfall!"

Harry and Luna looked at each other, both dripping wet and shivering with cold.

„H-h-how could you b-b-be so stupid!" Harry exclaimed through chattering teeth.

„But I only wanted –," Luna began but fell quiet when she looked at Hermione.

Her hand showed a rejecting gesture. She had turned quite pale and was feeling cold without her cloak. „What happened?" she asked.

"I dived. Then there came such a – a – little green beast. A Grindylow, I believe. He took my hair and pulled me along." Luna sobbed. "I lashed about but he wouldn't let me go. It was terrible! And suddenly he had a knife in his hand and tried to – actually I don't know what he wanted. He blindly stabbed around every-which-way. I ripped it from his hand – and then he dived away!"

"Very brave of you! Even more so because he caught you on your arm. But taking the knife away from him – respect!" said Harper. She held the weapon in her hand. The moonlight fell upon a small silver knife with a decorated handle, that didn't look like a possession of a Grindylow or any other lake inhabitant. Harper wiped it dry with her robe and put it away.

"I'll examine it. Who knows where the Grindylow got it from. And you have to go to the hospital wing with no further delay. It is only a small wound but we don't know whether the knife was tampered with in any way."

Then she turned to Harry. For a short moment the moonlight fell directly upon her face, and he saw an expression of such wild triumph light up in her eyes that he really jumped. "And you, Mr. Potter, should accompany her! If you don't want to catch pneumonia!"

Was there a smile around the corners of her mouth?

Harry was so confused that he couldn't say.

oooOooo

They mounted the broom together that Hermione had summoned and set off. Her hair waved in his face again but this time he didn't complain. He closed his eyes and abandoned himself to the feeling – soft like the downy feathers on the inner side of an owl's wing – I will never feel the same again –

From a distance they could already hear the screaming, but only when they flew over the meadow in front of the main entrance they saw the perpetrators who were desperately fighting.

"That's Crookshanks – and Mrs Norris! I have to get down there, Harry!"

They touched down closely followed by Professor Harper and Luna.

Hermione hurried towards the cats that were locking jaws and she tried to separate them.

Harry, meanwhile definitely quailing, saw Mr Filch, the always disgruntled caretaker, coming down the stairs with hurried steps.

"What's going on here?" McGonagall's furious voice cut through the night. The Headmistress followed Filch with resolute steps. Apparently in a hurry she had thrown her robe over her night dress, but that couldn't diminish her dignity and her authority in the least.

Even the cats ceased, and Hermione took the chance to pull Crookshanks out of the turmoil and to keep him tight.

Filch started shouting. "Mrs Norris ran away, apparently she had seen something unusual. And she was right, wasn't she? Have a look, all the students out of bed, outside on the school grounds, in the middle of the night!"

"Thank you, Mr Filch, I can see that myself! Miss Granger – Miss Lovegood – Mr Potter – what in Merlin's name are you doing here in the middle of the night – and dripping wet as well?"

"I wanted –" Luna started.

"We had –" said Hermione.

"Professor Harper, maybe you can explain a little faster!" McGonagall cut off their words. "And Miss Granger, I would appreciate if you could calm down this tomcat somehow. That is unbelievable!" she snorted.

Hermione doggedly fought with Crookshanks. He hit her with his paws, fiercely screeching, until eventually a stroke hit her nose, which was painful enough that with a yelp she let him fall. He darted off. "What's the matter with him?" she helplessly asked wiping her nose, and noted the blood on her hand with surprise.

"Ohhh! Look at that – Hagrid's coming! Crookshanks is running to him!" Luna shouted just now.

They all looked in the direction she was pointing. Indeed Hagrid was coming from the forest towards them. His huge figure was unmistakable even from the distance. Crookshanks stopped his furious run beside him and then accompanied him.

"He's carrying something," said Luna.

Professor Harper slowly said: "Yes, you're right. That is – a person."

Nobody moved, they stood paralyzed and watched him approach.

Hagrid trudged forward, gasping and sobbing. In spite of the heavy burden in his arms he quickly reached them. When he finally stepped into their midst they had recognized the blood soaked body lifelessly hanging in his arms.

Harry got the feeling that the sound was turned off. He saw everything, he could see Hermione scream and McGonagall ask their questions with an effort to keep self-control, but he didn't hear anything. He saw Lupin's quiet face, hardly recognizable through all the blood, his closed eyes, his limply dangling arms. Saw the gruesome wound where his throat had been before. Hagrid's crying face when he tried to report – Professor Harper trying in vain to close the wound – the horror on every face –

But all he could hear was a sweeping noise in his head and the words _your fault_!

It was an evil voice, and it didn't say it accusingly but more with a smile.

The view of Hagrid with the hurt Lupin in his arms frightened him deeply, but at the same time he felt as if he had foreboded it, as if his senses had told him all the time – as if it was this incident he had to watch before going back into the castle. It felt like the end of the world, but the sound of it fitted perfectly in the chaotic, rapid music of this night.

He arduously shook himself, as if he was under water, and eventually the noise of the world came back.

"… in the forest!" Hagrid was complaining just now. "Damn' beast brough' me there, almost scratched my eyes out till I finally came with 'im. Didn't get what he wanted! Oh no, no, no!"

"Is he – dead?" croaked Harry.

"Still breathin'. Very faintly. All the blood –" Hagrid cried and his tears fell upon Lupin's blood crusted clothes.

"We have to go inside immediately," said Professor McGonagall in a harsh voice. „Hospital wing!"

They couldn't fly with the severely injured, so they walked all together. It was a miserable procession with Crookshanks beside Hagrid in front, followed by Hermione and McGonagall. Luna stumbled after them. At the end Harry found himself next to Professor Harper. When he turned around another one had joined them: the black tomcat that had chased the Sluffer together with Crookshanks had appeared out of nothing and now quickly followed them.

Harper shook her head, though it was hardly noticeable.

"Too late," Harry heard her mumble. "There is nothing that can be done any more."


	14. The Wolf is set free

**Chapter Fourteen:**

**The Wolf is Set Free**

**(Translation by annebanane)**

Harry was sitting at the bed with covers that where far too white, his eyes fixed on Lupin. They had washed off the blood and had put a dressing around his neck, but his face had become a yellowish colour like wax, and his nose looked much sharper now between the sunken cheeks and the darkly shadowed eyes.

Harry's heart was clasped by an icy hand and he could hardly breathe. In his head a single word was hammering for hours now, as it seemed to him, "Please, please, please!" He couldn't think of anything else, just stare. He was vaguely aware of Hermione sitting beside him as motionless as himself, and that struck some chord in him.

They had woken Ron up while Hagrid and McGonagall were carrying the severely injured to Madam Pomfrey. Harry had quickly put on dry clothes. Then the three of them had hurried to the hospital wing and stayed there. Nobody opposed them, although it was meanwhile shortly after three a.m.

Only gradually the low voices of the conversation held between Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, Hagrid and Professor Harper a little aside of Lupin's bed got through to Harry.

"Do we have any clue how this happened?" McGonagall was asking at that moment.

"I suppose it is the bite of a werewolf – it is not long ago that I saw one," answered Madam Pomfrey. "I can't do any more for him," she added in a low voice. "The bleeding can't be stopped."

Professor Harper only nodded in confirmation.

"We've just informed Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody," said McGonagall in a harsh voice. "They will arrive any minute."

"He was lying deep in the forest," said Hagrid fighting strongly against the tears. "Without the tomcat I never would've found 'im. But he went at me with his paws until I finally figured what he meant. Followed 'im. And suddenly he lay there. Had seen him only a short time ago." He couldn't continue.

McGonagall nodded. "He wanted to go on patrol. We've had so many hints of strange creatures in the forest! And the Wolfsbane Potion made it possible for him to keep control of himself even as a wolf."

"But 'e was a _man_ when I suddenly almost stumbled over 'im!" said Hagrid. "The throat ripped open – wet with blood – thought he was dead. An' the black stray was with 'im."

"What kind?" asked McGonagall.

"A black tomcat that often walks around here. Comes into the forest from time to time for years now."

"I thought he led you to him?" asked McGonagall wondering.

"Nay, not that one. That was Crookshanks, Hermione's cat. He was the one that came to my hut 'n' was shriekin' 'n' behaved like crazy."

"Did you see anybody – or anything – else, that was unusual?"

Hagrid reflected on that, then he shook his head. Tears were running over his face into his wild beard. "Heard the howling of a wolf. Thought it was _him_. I knew 'im since he was a boy, you know!" it suddenly bursted out of him and he buried his face in his hands.

The door went open and Mad-Eye Moody entered together with Tonks. Her eyes were wide open frozen in horror. She didn't look at anyone but only walked over to the bed where she stopped beside Ron, who shyly got up from his chair and offered it to her. She didn't say anything; she only pulled the seat close to the bed and sat down. Moody followed her slowly. His wooden leg tocked heavily on the floor.

Harry watched Tonks taking Lupin's hand and holding it. He risked a shy glance at her face and could see the same terrible fear that filled his own heart. Suddenly he felt like screaming, like throwing himself onto the floor and crying like a little child. _'Not Lupin_!' it roared inside of him, 'not him, too!!' And at the same time he saw the blood again soaking the dressing and the quiet face looking more and more sunken.

"Remus!" whispered Tonks with trembling lips and bent over him. She, too, had seen the traitorous red on the dressing. She removed his hair off his forehead then left her hand on his cheek while she let her head sink down onto the bed.

Harry felt something sidle around his chair and then saw Crookshanks with an aslant jump land on Hermione's lap. She mechanically put her hand in the long reddish hair and moved her fingers petting him gently. Harry averted his gaze, unable to bear the totally unexpected shiver that trickled through his body seeing this. Only then he noticed that the other tomcat had also squeezed through the door of the sick room after Crookshanks and he now reached the window sill with an elegant jump. He remained seated there and seemed to attentively watch the scene with his mysterious cat eyes.

And then the time inexorably ticked away. The room had fallen silent, Hagrid and Professor McGonagall went outside into the corridor together with Moody; Madam Pomfrey took care of Luna in the adjoining part of the hospital wing, as he was to learn at some later point. He(,) Ron and Hermione remained silent, sitting around Lupin's bed. Tonks didn't stir from the spot, only her hand was constantly petting the face of the dying man with little movements.

Meanwhile pieces of thoughts raced through Harry's head – blood transfusion – should bring him to a Muggle hospital – intensive care unit – they should be able to help him –  
But he knew he was betraying himself. Blood transfusion against bites of a werewolf? Sometime later the fatigue filled his brain with a light grizzle that was almost like sleeping with his eyes open.

When the first little hint of grey came in through the window indicating the break of dawn, Harry noticed that Lupin's hand quivered first, then it insecurely felt for Tonks. Immediately he was wide awake.

Tonks' head, too, shot up. "Remus, my love –"

His hand limply slid down from her arm, but his eyes were open and he looked at her. Then he smiled. Harry was sure that with this injury he wouldn't be able to speak anymore, but he really tried. Very weakly and with rattling breaths in between he finally said, "Greyback – has finished it –"

"Don't talk!" said Tonks fearfully. "You have to save your strength!"

He hardly noticeably shook his head and wanted to say something, but couldn't. He closed his eyes, and they anxiously waited, holding their breaths.

"Harry – so much – to tell –," he finally whispered scarcely audible. Then he lay quiet for a long time, and they could see his chest rise and fall with great effort. The dressing around his neck was fully soaked with blood now. Tonks started to cry gently.

"Free!" he added, but they mostly read it from his lips rather than they could hear it. And then they could see how he slipped away. Harry, who didn't take his eyes off Lupin's face, was surprised to see how it took on an expression of relief and peace.

They still sat there, motionless, when his chest had long stopped moving.

oooOooo

Some time later Madam Pomfrey appeared, followed by all who apparently had been sitting outside in the corridor, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, Moody. It got very noisy in the quiet room, the tomcats squeezed out through the door, and Harry, too, just got up and left.

As if sleepwalking he found his way outside into the sunny, windy day. He stumbled down the big front steps which they had ascended a few hours earlier. With blind eyes he passed the spot where Hagrid had stood with Lupin in the night. He walked and walked until he found himself at the lakeshore once again. He went on, not noticing the whirling colourful leaves that the wind shook off the trees. He walked until he couldn't go on any more. His sides and his throat were aching as if he had been running, and his legs didn't want to carry him any longer. He sat down at the lake and crouched down to make himself as small as possible. He stayed like this for a long time until his body was numb by the chill of the wind.

Actually we wanted to take a walk and talk, he suddenly remembered and laughed. His shrill and cawing voice startled him. But he couldn't cry. Now they're all dead, he thought. Everybody who could have told me something about my parents, all who had been their friends.

He thought of the expression on Lupin's face when he died, but he knew that this peace wasn't meant for himself yet. With death peace would possibly come. But he, Harry, lived, and he felt fraught with the wish for retribution, in this hour more than ever before.

Remus Lupin, he thought. He was the most gentle human being I knew. His murderer will not get away with this deed!

Then he got up, removed the clammy leaves off his pants and quickly went back to the castle. It was morning, and all the other students were sitting in their classrooms, so he could already see Ron and Hermione from a distance. They sat on a bench not far from Dumbledore's tomb. Seeing them together he felt a stab in his chest and he suddenly would have preferred to head in the other direction. When he reached them, he noticed Ron's arm around Hermione's shoulder.

"Hello," said Harry and sat down beside Ron.

"We've been looking for you already," said Ron in a harsh voice, not to show how shocked he really was. "McGonagall allowed us to take the day off."

Harry almost laughed out, and he certainly would have sounded like before. Did she really believe he would just go and listen to the lessons today?

Hermione took a look at him across Ron's shoulder. She had cried, and he still could see tears in her eyes. Their eyes met across Ron and they both exchanged a glance, and then he knew that she hadn't forgotten the kiss. This insight hit him like a slow punch in the gut, but he couldn't avert his gaze from her hazel eyes. He avoided looking at her lips, at least he tried. He had already listened to so many smart things and know-it-all stuff and bigheaded words coming past these lips, but he had never realized that they were – when she didn't talk – soft and gentle and beautifully shaped.

"They want to keep it a secret," said Ron. "To avoid a panic. Most of them didn't even know him anyway."

"I still can't believe it," said Hermione in a trembling voice. "Why did this happen? Why Lupin? He was so –" She stopped and started to cry again. Ron somewhat awkwardly fondled her hair, and now Harry had to avert his gaze. He stared at his shoes, scrabbled the leaves around and couldn't believe that he was sitting here, merely two hours after Lupin's death, and feeling jealous of his best friend. "How is Luna?" he eventually asked, more to say something and less because he was really interested in it at the moment.

"She is in the hospital wing. Sleeping, as far as I know. Madame Pomfrey wanted to keep and watch her, because Harper told her to keep an eye on the cut," said Ron.

"And Harper? Where is she now?"

"No idea. Suppose she's giving lessons, ain't she?" said Ron exhaustedly.

It had suddenly crossed Harry's mind that she would definitely like to talk to him later that day. At the first moment he even couldn't remember what she wanted to talk about. Lupin's death and – as he had to admit – the kiss had eliminated everything else from his mind.

Hermione had freed herself from Ron and now blew her nose. "I'm terribly tired," she then said. "I think I'll go inside and take a nap."

"Later on you two really have to tell me what happened last night." said Ron innocently, and Harry could hear a crazy giggling inside of him. Sure, he thought, we're going to tell you every detail, my dear friend: Luna takes a bath in the lake at midnight to find something to win your heart with, we try to save her and instead kiss each other, and then Harper comes and Crookshanks and McGonagall and Filch and Mrs Norris and – and – Hagrid. Oh Lupin! I want you alive!

"I'll go inside, too," he said rudely. "I need some sleep." And he quickly stumped away for he didn't want to watch the other two possibly walking back hand in hand.

oooOooo

When Ron shook Harry to wake him up a few hours later, he caught him in the middle of a confused, dark dream, in which he stood on a small island in the lake and had to decide which of his friends had to die next. The obscure presence next to him was filled with weird serenity but didn't have a shape although he knew its voice.

"Gee, Harry, wake up now!"

"Okay, okay. You are one to talk!" grumbled Harry and got up. Only then he remembered and the memory fell like a heavy black hulk of stone into his consciousness: Lupin was dead.

"Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall want to talk to you, right now!"

He jumped out of his bed and into his shoes. His clothes felt clammy and sweaty, but he put all thoughts of changing aside. He picked up the crumpled little piece of parchment that had fallen out of his robe and put it into the pocket of his pants without taking a look at it. He breathlessly wondered what was the matter this time.

It was shortly after lunchtime and students filled the corridors talking and laughing and hurrying to their next lessons. Harry felt as if crashed in here from an alien planet. Ron led him to the hospital wing, and that was the place he really didn't want to go to. "You know what they want?" he eventually asked.

"Something about Luna. She's in a bad condition."

"But she only got a little cut on her arm!"

"Well, I don't know either! Come on now!"

In front of Madam Pomfrey's office they met Hermione, and they entered the room together. Professor McGonagall waited there as well, looking earnestly at them. "Miss Granger, Mr Potter, we have to have the weapon Miss Lovegood was hurt with," she said right after they had closed the door.

"Professor Harper took it. She wanted to examine it."

"She thought it might be coated with something," added Hermione.

"In fact, that seems to be the case," said Madam Pomfrey. "Miss Lovegood has got a high temperature. The medicine I gave her doesn't work. I do hope that Professor Harper meanwhile found out what is wrong with the weapon."

McGonagall had gotten a bit paler. "I'm afraid Professor Harper is absent. She was ordered to the Ministry once more this morning!"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other terrified. "Maybe she left the knife somewhere in her office?" suggested Hermione half-heartedly.

But in Harry's head the changing shades of grey had appeared again. _Gone_! She's gone! And I bet she's not at the Ministry! He saw her face again with the unbelievable triumph in her eyes.

"So, well," said McGonagall determinedly. "I'll go and have a look in her office. She probably didn't take it along. Did you see the knife last night? Would you recognize it?" she turned to Harry and Hermione. They nodded.

"It was a small silver knife. The hilt was somehow decorated."

"It was the head of a bird," said Hermione. "I couldn't see it exactly, but I'm pretty sure that it looked like an elongated bird's head."

McGonagall stared at her. "Well," she finally said. "You two come with me."

The head of a bird? thought Harry, hurrying through the corridors again. That is – I've recently –

"Here we are", said Professor McGonagall forcefully when they arrived at Harper's locked office next to the classroom of Defence. She took a large bunch of keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door with a grim look on her face. "Well, you stay here. If the room of a teacher has to be searched then I'll do it myself – as discreetly as possible."

Harry and Hermione stood on the threshold and watched the headmistress looking into cupboards and drawers with apparent discomfort. Harry took in the deserted atmosphere of the room. It had something final, and at the same time he got the impression that its inhabitant had left this room in an unexpected hurry. A black robe hung on a hook behind the desk, untidily as if hastily thrown there – then he realized that the mirror must be hidden under it.

"What is this?" asked McGonagall, when a round bunch of dried black plants swelled out of a drawer.

"Gillyweed," answered Harry automatically.

"So much? What does she need it for?" asked McGonagall in surprise trying to squeeze it back into the drawer.

Harry and Hermione again exchanged glances.

"Well then, finished. No trace of a knife. She accidentally must have taken it along," sighed McGonagall. The cloak caught her eye and automatically she reached her hand out to hang it properly. "Oh, what is that?" she mumbled, when she found the mirror behind it.

Harry and Hermione leaned forward when she took the cloak off the hook and when the oval golden-framed mirror came into full sight. All three looked into the bronze-like depth of the mirror that seemed to be the inner curve of a ball. They could see nothing but their own faces, thrown back blurredly and from this deep bronze colour. McGonagall carefully knocked with her finger on the surface. Nothing happened.

"Weird," she mumbled. "I wonder what this might be." Then she put the cloak back on the hook without completely covering the mirror again. "Unfortunately we have to inform Madam Pomfrey that we haven't got the knife," she anxiously said. "I will try to get hold of her somehow, but –" She didn't finish her sentence but glanced at Harry and Hermione, who were watching her out of their pale faces, and tried a smile. "Go outside to catch some fresh air. Take a walk and try to relax," she said friendly. "I'm sure we can help Miss Lovegood anyhow."

When they were going to leave McGonagall added, "And please don't talk to anybody about – about poor Remus. The members of the Order are informed, and we are going to – bury him here the day after tomorrow. But it's not necessary to disturb the whole school. Moody is following the track of this Greyback right now."

Harry saw the tears in Professor McGonagall's eyes and quickly had to avert his gaze. He was still fighting against the lump in his throat when Hermione and he had almost reached the hospital wing. They had automatically moved in that direction.

"Do you really think that Professor Harper is at the Ministry?" asked Hermione eventually. Harry shook his head.

"Me neither," she said in a low voice. "How closely did you see the knife yesterday?" He gave her a questioning look.

"The handle looked like the head of an eagle," she said.

"Why did you – oh gee, head of an eagle?" The memory came back again, but this time very clearly. "She wore that pendant! With the head of an eagle as well!"

"Yes, you told us about that, and I just remembered why it seemed so familiar to me. This pendant – it is an award for excellent achievement given to Ravenclaw students."

Harry stopped. "Something from Ravenclaw!" he muttered shivering. "He said it would be something from Ravenclaw or Gryffindor!"

"Exactly," said Hermione.

He stood there, petrified. Ron approached them, but he didn't notice. Could this be true? Had a Horcrux been just in front of his eyes and within reach – and was gone again? A terrible feeling told him that this was the truth.

"She must have known, Harry, you know that?"

He nodded. "The gillyweed," he said weakly. "She wanted to look for it herself! She even knew where it was hidden –" It was simply too much. He wanted to scream in anger and frustration.

"The big question now is: Where did she go from there?" said Hermione.

He looked up into her face. Her calmness was so soothing. He would have liked to take her hand, but Ron arrived just now and McGonagall passed them by on her way to the hospital wing. "And have you found it?" he asked hopefully.

"No, it's gone," said Harry.

And then Hermione put in a nutshell what had happened. Ron's face got more and more worried. "You think she's on her way to – _him_, to Voldemort?" he asked when Hermione had finished. They didn't answer.

"I would never have thought her capable of something like this," said Ron slowly. "Who is she then?"

"You should have seen her face last night, when Luna handed her the knife," said Harry gloomily. "She looked as if she wanted to burst out with joy. I just didn't get why."

"We gotta talk to Professor Slughorn right now," Hermione piped up again.

"With Slug? Why that?" asked Ron suspiciously.

"He knows a lot about Horcruxes. Maybe he can make a potion for Luna that helps with such an injury."

"Oh, I just wanted to tell you that. Luna's in a bad condition. She talks nonsense and Madam Pomfrey can hardly calm her down."

"I'll go to Slughorn," said Hermione.

"We should go to Professor Flitwick as well," said Harry slowly. "He is the Head of Ravenclaw House. He surely knows whether one of the Ravenclaw foundation items has gone."

"Good idea," said Ron. "I'll come with you. I hope he's not giving a lesson right now."

Harry noticed with some kind of shock that he found it difficult to leave without Hermione.

"Well, let's go then," said Ron and dragged him along.

oooOooo

They were lucky: Professor Flitwick was sitting in his office and was marking essays when Ron and Harry entered the room after his squeaked out 'Come in!'.

The little Charms professor gave them a light-hearted smile and they instantly knew that he couldn't have heard about Lupin's death. Harry wondered for a short moment about how seriously Professor McGonagall apparently took the secrecy.

"Mr Potter, Mr – er – Whimsey –"

"Weasley."

"Yes, Mr Weasley, what can I do for you?"

"We've got a question concerning the items of Rowena Ravenclaw that are kept here at Hogwarts."

Professor Flitwick looked interested. "Well, if you want to take a look at them you have to follow me to the Trophy room, because my small office hasn't got an adequate furnishing for things like that." He probably wanted to say that a desk and two old wooden bookcases weren't an appropriate place for objects of value. He climbed off his chair and rummaged through a drawer until he pulled a long parchment out.

Harry and Ron were surprised but relieved that Professor Flitwick didn't want to hear an explanation for their sudden interest. "Let's go then," he said friendly. "We have to manage a lot of stairs." The Trophy room was situated on the sixth floor, and because Professor Flitwick was extremely short it took them quite a while to get up there.

"Admittedly we still have only two of the primary three objects of Rowena: the parchment roll, on which she wrote her plans and ideas for the school, and the quill she's supposed to have written down these ideas with." The sunlight coming in through the window was reflected by the crystal cabinet doors, danced on the golden surfaces of the trophies and plates, and let streams of whirling dust particles twinkle. Flitwick led them to a cabinet with a densely written parchment inside and an antiquated long-yellowed quill next to it.

"And what was the –"

"The third object – and surely the one of the most valuable material – was a silver knife. I have to disappoint you, if you want to see it. It unfortunately disappeared years ago. But I can show you a picture in the catalogue!" he said and triumphantly waved the heavy roll he had taken along upstairs. He unreeled it on a glass showcase and looked among the many little pictures of trophies, decorative wall plates, arms and pieces of jewellery. "Oh, here it is!" he finally exclaimed. "Here, Rowena Ravenclaw's knife. Have a look."

Ron and Harry bent forward to the spot Professor Flitwick's yellowish finger pointed at. It was a rather small but beautifully crafted silver knife with a sharp blade; the handle was formed – just as Hermione had said – like the head of an eagle. _The Weapon of Intellect_ was written in calligraphy right beside it, and beneath it was a dictum that Professor Flitwick now read aloud in a somewhat declamatory voice:

"May the intellect be a sharp weapon:  
it may remove the redundancy,  
it may reveal the base  
As the most likely answer!"

"That is engraved on the blade as well," he added. "It's too bad I can't show you the original. I saw it myself in my younger days."

"What happened to it?" asked Harry, trying not to show his interest in this special point too clearly.

And there it happened, Flitwick's face closed and he frowned. Eventually he said, "It was stolen years ago, probably by a thievish house-elf. We found many other precious things with him. He really had sort of stocked them up. That was – let me think – that was more than twenty years ago now."

"And the knife never showed up again?" asked Harry.

"No, it didn't. We assumed that it had already been sold by then. You have no idea what prices unscrupulous art dealers are willing to pay for such a piece!" Professor Flitwick wiped his beard and looked so uncomfortable that Harry could do nothing but continue to ask.

"But there was still something else about the knife, wasn't it?"

Flitwick cumbersomely rolled up the catalogue again. Just when Harry wanted to repeat his question, he reluctantly said, "Well, yes. At first a gir-, a student was suspected of the theft. The one had cleaned in the Trophy room just before, you know. Otherwise this person would never have been suspected. But luckily we soon found the stolen goods with the house-elf, and the suspicion was abandoned. The student was rehabilitated – and made her career."

"Hail to her, the master thief!" mumbled Harry, but in such a low voice, that Flitwick couldn't hear him. "Thank you very much, Professor Flitwick," he then added in a loud voice. "You really helped us a lot."

"Oh, I'm always glad when students show interest in the history of Hogwarts and especially in its founders. I assume you have to write a corresponding essay, don't you? I'm well aware that this interest rarely rises of its own accord," he finished with a sigh.

"Oh no," mumbled Ron. "You're wrong about that. We have a mere personal interest. It's for – er – an article in our yearbook."

"How wonderful," said Flitwick. "Well, I'll go back to my essays. I'm glad I could help you." And he started his long way back downstairs. Ron and Harry followed him.

"Listen, if this happened only twenty years ago it can't have been Tom Riddle!" said Ron, sounding a little disappointed.

"It wasn't him," answered Harry grimly. "It was Harper."

"What? How did you get that idea? I mean – I thought you consider it to be one of Voldemort's Horcruxes!"

"Shush! Pipe down!" hissed Harry and meaningfully looked at a group of students coming upstairs. "Yes, I do. I have no idea how all this is connected. But Harper definitely knew where it was and she knew what it was, that is obvious!"

They jumped a few steps further. "Mate, that's the reason why she looked so pale and shivery lately during the lessons. She must have swum around in the lake at night and looked for it!"

Somehow it was this last detail that convinced Harry of the correctness of his theory. "And now she's gone and has taken it along," he said in a low voice. "She bagged it right under our noses and I bet she walked off with it straight to her master."

"But why would she do that? And anyway – why should she be on Voldemort's side? Do you now consider Luna's story to be true after all?"

"No idea. I just don't know. And I'm wondering about something else as well. Why didn't Dumbledore mention this thing about the knife? I mean, when he already had a suspicion that Voldemort might have made one of the Ravenclaw founder pieces a Horcrux, then he should have thought of the lost knife in the first place, shouldn't he?"

"Maybe he did. Maybe he was looking for that thing, but he didn't want to tell you more until he had found it?"

Harry sighed. How many more important facts might exist that Dumbledore hadn't been able to tell him any more?

When they stepped out into the afternoon sun he felt how exhausted he was. He was dizzy with fatigue and his brain didn't work correctly any more. And when he saw that sky so clear and blue, he remembered Lupin lying cold and dead somewhere beneath these roofs and that he would never see the sun and the blue sky again. What should he, Harry, achieve against an enemy who owned such weapons and had allies like the werewolf Fenrir Greyback or a Hekate Harper?

oooOooo

Hermione was lucky, too. The dungeon was vacant apart from Slughorn, who was busy with the huge cauldron Hagrid had brought him. With a grim look on his face he was stirring the thin blackish fluid which now released a numbing smell that vaguely reminded of burnt milk. In his one hand he held a pipette out of which he every now and then dropped a bit of a dark fluid into the mixture. Not really delighted about the disturbance he looked up when Hermione entered, but recognizing her he gave her a smile. "Miss Granger – come on in – just sit down, I'll be finished in a minute."

Something in his voice showed her that he knew about Lupin's death. But Hermione didn't have the time and the patience any more to exchange courtesies. "Do you know of something that can help when you are hurt by a – Horcrux?" she bluntly asked.

Slughorn jumped. He carefully put the pipette back into the holder. Then he took off his protective gloves, fetched a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead. "But – my dear! Please, dear Miss Granger – what are you talking about? A Horcrux – you shouldn't even mention something like that." He took his glasses off, wiped them and put them back on.

"Professor Slughorn, it's really urgent! Luna Lovegood is lying in the hospital wing with a heavy infection. She has a high temperature. Madam Pomfrey is at a loss. But we are pretty sure that she – well, that she got hurt by a knife that is a Horcrux."

Slughorn looked at her in shock. "Miss Granger – well, really – I don't know –" Then he stopped and eventually came to a decision. "I'm well aware that Mr Potter and apparently his friend as well deal with these topics. I will not insist in you telling me the reasons for doing so." He cringed a little, and it was obvious that he preferred to know as little as possible. "But the truth is that such a problem is beyond my knowledge. To be honest," he added, "I assume that such an injury cannot be healed."

That was too much for Hermione. She lowered her head and got up. When she wordlessly approached the door Professor Slughorn tried to appease her. "Oh, no, my dear – I didn't want to say – but you are not yet _sure_ that the injury was caused by – er – a Horcrux – are you? –"

But she only dejectedly shook her head. And then, just as she wanted to leave, she remebered something. "And if you – well, if Grindelwald's _Nightworlds_ was available to you?" she breathlessly asked, wiping some tears off her face. "Might that be useful for you?"

"_Nightworlds_? Grindelwald's book? But my dear child, that book isn't easy to find! Surely, it might be that he wrote something concerning this topic – I even believe to have read that he looked quite closely into the subject of the medieval Horcrux – but as I said –"

"Pardon me. I'll be back in ten minutes!" Hermione interrupted him and left him alone. He watched her walk away with a totally bewildered look on his face.

oooOooo

"Are you crazy?" Ron scolded her a few minutes later when she had found them in the corridor. "What if he collects it and snitches on us? And even more, the book belongs to Harry!"

Harry, who was still a bit dazed while staring into the sunlight, kept silent.

"I think we have to take the risk. Maybe it's Luna's only chance. And who knows, maybe it's not that bad if he gets hold of the book. Maybe he can even help us," Hermione answered back.

"Let's go to the hospital wing again," Harry eventually said. "Let's listen to what Madam Pomfrey has to say. Perhaps Luna is a bit better already."

Reluctantly Hermione accompanied them and they went to the hospital wing again – for the umpteenth time this day as it seemed. It was quiet up there and they took it as a good omen. They saw Madam Pomfrey sitting in her office making notes in a large list. She looked up when the three hesitatingly entered.

"We wanted to ask how Luna's doing," said Harry.

"Well. She's asleep now. She still has a high temperature. But the swelling on her arm is getting smaller." She shook her head. "I've hardly ever seen something like that. It was such a small cut! But who knows what kind of knife that was. Well, I do hope that Miss Lovegood will be better tomorrow."

They thanked for the information and left the hospital wing.

"Good that we asked first," said Ron. "You would have given the book to Slughorn totally in vain."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Hermione. "But I still think he perhaps could have helped us."

"I don't trust him," said Ron belligerently.

"Oh, Ron, you're only angry because he's so arrogant towards you!" said Hermione. "I do understand you – but, please, he's definitely trustworthy."

oooOooo

The next day was a Saturday and passed by very quietly. Harry felt curiously paralysed. He avoided every company and spent most of the day strolling over the grounds. His thoughts raced in circles and still ended at his parent's friend again and again, at the man who had become a friend to him as well. He, too, had wanted to protect him, and he, too, had died doing so. Like his parents. Like Sirius. And Dumbledore.

Harry tortured himself thinking he was jinxed. Not far from Hagrid's cabin he leaned against a big rock, staring thoughtfully towards the edge of the forest. What if he just left?  
_Could_ he just leave? His hand closed around the pendant in his pocket. The answers he was looking for were here, in Hogwarts. He clearly felt that. Lost in thought he pulled the crumpled little piece of paper( )that he had unthinkingly picked up yesterday out of his pocket. He flattened it and wasn't really surprised when he read in bright red letters, "What are you doing in Hogwarts, Potter? You are HIS Chosen One!" Harry crumpled the little piece of paper up and was about to ignite it with his wand when he changed his mind and put it back into his pocket.

Late in the afternoon a first-grader found him and told him that Professor McGonagall wanted to talk to him and Hermione and Ron in her office. Not too surprised he hurried up to the castle, where Ron and Hermione were already waiting in Professor McGonagall's office – her own former office.

"Tomorrow morning we are going to give Remus Lupin a quiet funeral," she frankly said when the three friends stood in front of her desk. "Of course you are invited to take part. But I want to ask you to still keep silence. I don't mean to cover up an alarming occurrence," she continued with a stern gaze, "but avoid disturbing the students more than necessary. I hope you can understand this decision." Then she hesitated, and Harry could see how she eventually pulled herself together to keep on talking.

"I suppose you have noticed that Professor Harper hasn't returned yet. Well, it's the weekend now and maybe she prefers to spend it in London, for some reason. But –" She now cleared her throat and apparently reluctantly continued: "I couldn't get hold of her at the Ministry. It – er – it looks as if she didn't have an appointment there at all." She watched them carefully and waited for a moment. "Is there anything you want to tell me in this matter?" she then sharply asked.

When still nobody answered, she said resignedly, "So I ask you to keep silent about this as well. Should Professor Harper not return until Monday morning I'll have to comment this matter in some way. I really hope you won't come to regret your freelancing," she finished with a trace of bitterness.

With these words they were dismissed. In the corridor Hermione told them that Luna was still the same. "She's sleeping almost all the time," she said.

Harry didn't say anything. He intensely thought about Professor Harper.

The common room was filled with the usual evening sound level. It was pretty crowded, and Harry perceived himself and Ron and Hermione as a mute island within the noise. While Ron and Harry lounged on the sofa and pretended to read a book Hermione actually did so at her usual table. When Harry saw the cover with _A History of Magic_ written on it he got up and went over to her.

"Now leave the Twye Potion and the ritual," he said in a low voice. "That doesn't help us at all. What we need is something to destroy Horcruxes. And preferably something to track them down as well."

Hermione looked pale and helplessly up at him. "That's exactly what I'm looking for. And for something to help against Horcrux injuries. If something like that exists."

Harry went back to the sofa and read the same page in _Rooms in Transformation_ for the third time. When he saw Hermione leave a short while later he couldn't resist any longer. He waited for a few minutes – it might have been only one and a half – then left the common room and started to run. Ron watched him with a frown.

Harry was lucky: He saw Hermione still walk along the corridor, and the corridor was empty. With his heart ferociously pumping he ran after her until he reached her. He didn't have to explain anything or to invent excuses: She turned to him, and immediately they lay in each other's arms.

"Do you know that I'm a kind of nephew of Voldemort?" he asked into her hair in a voice that couldn't decide between giggling and sobbing.

"A kind of great nephew – yes, of course," she answered with the same unbalance.

"You know that?! Since when?"

"Do you think I'm stupid? The moment when you came back so strangely from your aunt. That doesn't matter at all, now, I mean." Better kiss me, said her glance, and that's what he did.

"And what about Ron?" he finally asked.

"And what about Ginny?" she asked back in a low voice.

They looked at each other but didn't find an answer. And the worst thing was it wasn't that important. The only important thing was that they were standing here together and that they could be close to one another. The first real comfort since Lupin's death. Actually since Dumbledore's death.

oooOooo

It was early Sunday morning, and most of the students were still asleep in their beds. The fog lay thick and white on the grounds, and it was very cold here outside, where a small group moved over the dewy grass down to the lake. Harry slowly went between Ron and Hermione towards Dumbledore's tomb. McGonagall, the Heads of Houses and the members of the Order – the only family Lupin still had – had agreed to bury him next to Dumbledore. Bill had come and a few more people that Harry had seen before at Grimmauld Place but didn't know well.

But even the members of the Order couldn't have appeared in greater number. And so they went as a small silent group behind Hagrid, who once more carried a dead. Harry couldn't look at the body which Hagrid held in his arms, wrapped in dark cloth.

How different this quiet, almost covert little procession was compared to Dumbledore's funeral! Remembering this, Ginny suddenly appeared before his face very clearly, and to his surprise he realised how simple at least his own world had seemed back then – and how dark and involved he felt now.

Moody and a strangely tiny looking Tonks went behind them. Tonks' hair was totally colourless and lay like dead around her pointed face. Moody had her by her arm when the two now passed Harry, Ron and Hermione. Then Tonks turned to them and shook Moody's hand off.

"You are aware that he was here because of you?" she bitterly said to Harry. "Can't you just go off and find this shithead and cook his goose? Before we all die for that!"

Harry rebounded as if she had slapped him. Automatically he stopped but couldn't return anything. Moody threw an apologizing glance to Harry and softly pulled Tonks along. "Come on, dear," he mumbled as soothingly as his gruff voice allowed. Out of habit he reached into his pocket where his flask normally was but then pulled his empty hand back out.

Appalled and in sorrow Ron watched Moody and Tonks walk away. Harry still stood rooted to the spot and tried to think of how to walk on, when Hermione's hand touched his and pressed it.

Finally the little group stood shivering in front of the block of stone next to Dumbledore's tomb, on which Hagrid had laid the deceased. Tiny drops of the humidity from the fog moistened their hair and their cloaks. But while they were silently standing there the white cover over the lake began to rise, and first sunrays came through.

Harry shivered again. He felt as if he couldn't bear any more sunlight today. And he wished Hermione would still hold his hand.

Professor McGonagall held a short speech which rushed by his ears. Instead he suddenly heard Hermione beside him take a sharp breath. "Look at that!" she said in a low voice, and when he followed her glance to the trees on the other side of the lake he could see the big shapes moving softly as if under water.

"What are they?" Hermione breathed and Ron looked aghast when his eyes went in the same direction. The figures looked a bit like black dinosaurs moving in dreamy silence through the morning light.

"They are Thestrals," Harry uneasily whispered. "Now you can see them as well."

They couldn't avert their eyes from these animals while listening to McGonagall's voice. To be able to see them meant to have met death …

And then Alastor Moody rose to speak. "Let's say good bye to our friend Remus Lupin," he harshly started. "His life was hurt early, and it seems as if the one who did that now finished his work. He's going to pay for that. I promise.

"Remus Lupin was a brave man, who never tired in his fight against the dark. He was a – gentle man, whose fate to be a wolf was a heavy burden to him. Because first and foremost he was a human being, one of the most humane I've ever known. He saw so many of his friends die before him. I believe sometimes he would have wanted to go in their stead. But he never gave himself up. And now he made it," Moody finished in a low voice. "Finally the wolf is set free."


	15. Days of the Skull

**Chapter Fifteen: In Those Dark Days ...**

**Part 1: Days of the Skull**

_**(translated by Threecornerjack)**_

Monday morning dawned grey and depressing. The fog didn't seem to want to clear away this time. Harry asked himself how he was simply to attend classes again today as if nothing had happened. The usual hum of voices that surrounded him seemed loud and shrill now. Neville sat next to him, tense while reading the newspaper; on his other side was Ron, sullenly chewing around on his slice of toast. Nearly opposite to him sat Hermione, next to Lavender who was engrossed in an animated chat with Parvati. Hermione also hardly lifted her eyes from her plate on which she was shoving a few bits of toast from one side to the other. Harry wanted her to look at him, just once.

If she looks at me now – then – then –

But could he follow that thought up? He hadn't even written to Ginny yet. And now he was sitting here and wondering if Hermione and he –

At that moment Hermione looked at him. Her head turn slightly side ways, a short glance from reddened eyes. None the less a glance that got under his skin. He could hardly understand it. They had been friends for years now, been through a lot during this time – and then this. When did it happen? And why?

„I would like your attention please!" the voice of Professor McGonagall's cut through the jumbled chatter and clatter. Silence set in immediately. „I regret to inform you that Professor Harper has unexpectedly fallen ill and will not be able to teach until further notice. Once we learn more details about the duration of her absence we will consider getting someone to stand in for her."

This caused a hum of conversation.

„Apart from that, Madam Sprout asks that whoever removed the nestling berries from the green house, return them immediately. The berries are required for a certain purpose. I would like to point out that I _don't_ find this amusing at all," she added threateningly as some of the sixth and seventh years started giggling.

Neville put the newspaper on the table with a huff. He hadn't caught a word Professor McGonagall had said. As she returned to her seat at the teachers´ table and the noise picked up once more, he said in a subdued voice: „Bellatrix Lestrange attacked somebody. Here, read this."

Harry was happy for the distraction, looked at the article next to the small photo from which the fanatic, dark eyes of Voldemort's most fervent follower turned his way.

„Late Friday night a woman who had been missing for some weeks (we reported earlier) tried to gain entrance to the Malfoy Estate. As members of the Magical Law Enforcement tried to impede her, she haphazardly threw Cruciatus curses around and injured three people. After that  
she managed to escape and has not been found yet. One of the injured persons was able to identify her as Bellatrix Lestrange, the sister in law of the owner of said estate, Lucius Malfoy, whose whereabouts is also unaccounted for. Mrs Lestrange is already being sought after for other misdemeanours and has already served a large part of a long term sentence in Azkaban. If you come across any information to where the person might be, please contact your local Magical Law Enforcement Squad station."

As Harry looked up he could see flames of hatred burning in Neville's otherwise good-natured eyes. Bellatrix Lestrange hat tortured his parents, many years ago and since then they were staying at St. Mungo's Hospital in a permanent stupor without hope for recovery. Especially today he was able to understand such feeling of hatred. Lupin's death was an open wound for him.

Harry had no lessons during this afternoon and he crept away into his dormitory where he at least didn't have to talk to anybody. He aimlessly rummaged around in his trunk, maybe trying to find something that would comfort him. But there was nothing of the kind. He didn't want to take out the photo album which he had been so happy about at first because it reminded him of unwelcome details about his mother. The same applied to her ear rings or the golden snitch that had belonged to his father and nearly escaped him because he was so inattentive.

When he noticed the two Occlumentic books from Julia Tranquill, he hesitated for a moment, then pulled them out of his trunk and put them on his night stand. It was high time that he took a keener interest in the topic again.  
Finally he held the glass photo frame in his hand and looked at the woman with the long, wind-blown hair who was so happily swirling her baby through the air in the garden at Godric's Hollow. He thought of the amulet that Lily had kept along with the photo. Love. It meant love.

Then again this extraordinary obstacle, the black book with the Black's family coat of arms, lay in front of him. Reluctantly he took it from his trunk and hesitantly pressed here and there along the spiralled snake that held the book shut. For a while he sat and pondered over his scattered belongings. Slowly an idea was forming in his mind. In the end he hastily placed everything except the black book back into his trunk, jumped up and left the dormitory with the book.

In the corridor he met Hermione. His heart started beating faster as he saw her and noticed that she was evading his eyes.

„Where's Ron?" he asked in a hushed voice, hardly believing that he had just inquired about his best friend only to make sure that he was out of the way.

„With Luna in the infirmary. She's feeling better," she answered. „I saw him heading that way with a pile of year books. They're really taking that project seriously."

„Possibly a good thing for Luna to get some distraction," was his unthinking comment. He raised his hand and touched her cheek. There was no way he could have avoided it.

„And what are you doing?" she asked, trying to let it sound indifferent. She closed her fingers around his wrist and pulled his hand away but didn't let it go.

„I just had a great idea with respect to this book," he said, pointing to the black leather cover of the book he held under his arm.

„Let me guess – the Room of Requirement?" her question came with a hint of mockery twinkling in her eyes.

„I give up. You're always one step ahead of me," he said. „But you could have given me this tip earlier, you know."

„Honestly, I thought of it the moment you said that you had a great idea."

And then they stood there looking at one another. A few grinning first years passed by.

„You could come along." he quietly stated.

They climbed the stairs up to the seventh floor and Harry asked himself what he was up to. The book had completely dropped out of his mind. In the corridor on the seventh floor they were surprised to see that Barnabas the Barmy on his tapestry had taken to doing toe dance himself – possibly wanting to enlighten the trolls. But the trolls only tiredly leaned on tree trunks and boulders, drinking from simply ridiculous looking water bottles, barely emerging from their apathy to spare a look of puzzlement.

„Barmy," murmured Hermione, shaking her head. Then they passed the opposite wall thrice, eyes shut, concentrating hard on their objective: We need something to open this book!  
They had only just opened their eyes and noticed in frustration that they had not achieved their aim as suddenly a door jumped open surprising Hermione so much that she yelped. Neville came through the opening, his face blackened with soot, bleeding scratches on his forearm. He held a small but bulging leather bag in his hand and the scent of herbs wafted out with him.

„What –," he started to ask, and they simultaneously inquired: „What happened to you?"

Neville, whose disfigured face was nothing one could look at without feeling horrified, twitched his lips, probably intending a smile. „I want to make this magical weapon!" he said, his expression set and grim. „Are you aware that we might never learn all the details? If Harper doesn't get well soon – _if_ it is her health in the first place that is," he added gloomily.

Neither Hermione nor Harry had spared the weapons a second thought. Thinking of Harper called completely different problems to their minds. But Neville was right of course.

„Well, that´s the reason I´m trying to make one myself."

„In the room of requirement?"

„Sure. I need things to build a magical weapon," he answered. „And then I found books and all kinds of stuff in there."

„But Harper said there were no books to the topic!" said Hermione, wondering.

„There aren't any that clearly cover the subject of magical weapons. But some that have remarks here and there – allowing useful deductions on how to proceed," answered Neville, apparently not easily deterred.

„You're saying that you have the room do some kind literary research for you?" Hermione asked, eager and obviously delighted by the idea.

„Something like that, yeah. I think," Neville replied and plucked a few bits of soot from his hand. „And I think I've made some head way. Would you like to have a look?"

They nodded and followed him into the room because the door was still open. Open books were scattered all over the place.

„What are you two up to in here?" Neville asked while pulling the leather bag shut.

Harry noticed that Hermione suddenly turned bright red and could again feel his heart beating in his stomach. And then he had another great idea.

„We wanted to open this book. We have tried about everything but it didn't work. Now listen, Neville, something just occurred to me! If I – say – threatened you with this book, throw it at you or the like – wouldn't your weapon have to respond in some way? I mean – maybe –"

„Harry, you're nuts! Even if Neville's weapon or what ever it's supposed to be was already prepared for use, you're risking that the book will – maybe burst in flames or something like that!" exclaimed Hermione in warning.

Neville on the other hand seemed to find the opportunity to test his weapon appealing. „So-far I have only put a few shield charms in it," he explained „but it would be worth a try. I don't think that it will be able to destroy the book," he added, scrutinizing the bag that was the size of his palm.

„What's inside?" Suspicion sounded from Hermione's question.

„Certain herbs and other plants. Along with this and that," he replied. „Go on, Harry! Throw that thing at me! The worst that can happen is that it just drops to the floor."

„Harry –," Hermione wanted to warn him once more.

But Harry was determined. He had had enough of this unyielding book. Either it would open now or it would just burn up. He stood a couple of steps away from Neville and reached out with a theatrical gesture. „Here, Neville! Take this!!" he yelled as he threw it.

But if it was Neville's magical weapon of protection, the magic of the room that contributed an effective element or if it was the impact of the book on the floor – the book dropped, emitting a silvery, whirring sound as all the small snake-like spirals turned and retreated into the cover. The front cover of the book popped open.

The three of them stood and stared, finding themselves quite speechless for a moment.

„That can't be!" Neville cried out, being the first to recover. „That thing really works!"

Harry finally bent down and looked into a thick book that turned out to be a lot smaller than the leather cover had led to assume. It had dropped open and he saw that the pages were tightly covered in a small handwriting in light blue ink.

„By all means don't close it again!" said Hermione, still stunned.

„I presume that you guys want to take a look at it undisturbed. I'll leave you to it!" Neville called, leaving the room, nearly bursting with pride.

As the door closed behind him, Harry and Hermione stared at each other. He stood up and took her in his arms.

It probably was the joy of having been successful that swept both of them away. In the end Hermione was quite breathless as she reluctantly moved away from him.

„We should stop this," she said in a husky voice. „It's – it's simply not OK."

„You think we need Ron's consent?" Harry's question sounded bitter.

„And Ginny's!" she replied in a sharp tone.

That did it. Harry let his hands with which he had again reached for her, fall to his side.

„I'm so sorry, Harry!" she said in despair. „It's not that easy!"

„What is ever easy!" he grumbled.

„Let's have a look at the book."

They took the book and sat together in the big wing chair that stood in front of the desk which Neville had apparently used to experiment with his herbs. After a short moment of reluctance, Harry put his arm around her and leafed back to the beginning of the book.

While afternoon slowly turned to night, while Neville explained to Ron who was still searching that he had left Harry and Hermione in the Room of Requirement, while Luna as she was reading in her hospital bed, came across a detail that made her laugh for the first time in days – during all this time they sat there reading in immobile tension, letting the message unfold – a message that was written into this diary nearly seventeen years ago.

oooOooo

**Diary**

**September 15th, 1980**

Yesterday, at last, was the big day. I did my last rehearsal of the speech in front of the mirror while dressing that morning. Every word needed to be perfect – I knew very well that I would not get such an opportunity to present my work to a large (and important) audience again soon. Lucius told me that Lord Voldemort would probably be present! I was terribly nervous because I knew that to most of the people there I was merely a recent school graduate.

Mother paid close attention to my clothes – she gave Kreacher hell because she noticed a tiny stain on my left boot (actually, it wasn't his fault because he had polished them again this morning but I had dripped hair tonic on it as I was giving my appearance the final touch!).

Well, to get the best part down first: The report on my research was successful in every way. I was very lucky that the chairman of the Genealogical Society, Adrian Pedigree, is also a follower of the Renewal Movement. This meant that he was in attendance yesterday and he spoke to me about my work afterwards. He also wanted my speech on parchment.

I was able to hand _Noblesse triumphs_ to him as a small scroll straight away, I had prepared about twenty-five of them beforehand and have none left now. Mother and Father were damn proud yesterday. I was, too. My first speech in public! And it should have made people aware that there is someone resolutely working here and that before long a new edition of _Nature's Nobility_ could be expected!

Professor – nonsense, I'm not a student any longer! Well: To my surprise Horace Slughorn was there too. He usually doesn't appreciate being seen at public events. I flatter myself a little, assuming that he came because of me. I wrote him that I was going to report on my research. This whole Slug-Club thing does seem a little ridiculous now that I've left school. On the other hand good old Slug really has excellent connections and I don't intent to restrain myself too much in making use of ...

I was quite pleased with the event as a whole. Lately the Renewal has attracted several new followers. It seems that more and more people have realized that we have to do something if we want wizards to regain the esteem they are actually entitled to in the world. And – as a first step in this direction – the dilution of our power caused by the spreading habit of wizards marrying Muggles should be discouraged more strongly.

This was by the way the topic on which Lydia's father, Berengar Purge, spoke. The talk received a considerable amount of attention. (Lydia, who was sitting next to me, is quite stupid with regard to some matters. I don't think she heard anything beyond the word "marriage" in that speech and constantly tried to look at me in a meaningful way.)

And then I actually saw him, the man who allegedly pulls all the strings behind the scene: Lord Voldemort. I've already heard a lot about him – about his enormous capability to gather supporters, his determination to lead the Magical World to true glory, to the place it is entitled to! And – last but not least – his genius in the field of the Dark Arts. Some already call him the „Mozart of Magic".

I have to admit that I was very curious about him. Mainly I am fascinated by the fact that he is supposed to be the Head of the mysterious „Dark Order", this sinister union which aims to free and renew society, if need be even against their will. They want to do away with indolence and slackness that has spread among us in the past centuries.

In the past year some very uncomfortable incidents were the doing of this union. The victims were presumed to be members of a secret organisation who have on the other hand dedicated themselves to fighting the Death Eaters – probably initiated by Albus Dumbledore whose inimical attitude regarding Lord Voldemort and his ideals is widely known.

It was never possible to prove that the Lord participated or even induced these incidents. Whenever a situation turned critical he made sure he was not caught but I know of at least two cases where the people in Auror Headquarters had him on their „wanted" list.

As I mentioned, I only saw him from a distance but I was incredibly lucky. Lucius, who of course attended the event yesterday, invited us to a formal dinner where Lord Voldemort will be a guest as well. And he said that the Lord was quite impressed by the work I had presented!

ooOoo

**September 28th, 1980**

The dinner at the Malfoys' is this evening.

During the past ten days I have been researching and gathering all the available details about Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters. I am increasingly fascinated.

One could of-course debate what means should be permitted to achieve one's aims. But I think that it is clear to everyone that a fundamental renewal of our society cannot be brought about without bloodshed. That is an unfortunate but unavoidable necessity.

I believe that the union is basically right. Society is a lazy animal. Most people are fairly stupid and only want to enjoy their own little life without disturbance. It is necessary for someone to take it upon himself to wake these people up! To kick their lazy backsides and tell them: This is the way to go! Remember the noble gift that dwells within you, develop it to its full potential and protect it as the precious possession it is!

They use their ability to peel potatoes so they don't have to do it themselves or sheering the hedges without getting their hands dirty. For playing Quidditch or for Love Magic! But they should consider that people with our gift could rule the world if they so wanted and went about it skilfully! And I'm not only thinking about our fearfully huddled up magical world in which everyone is cowering and hiding so that the Muggles don't in any way notice them – no, I mean the whole world, the world in which the Muggles rule and wage war against each other because of the shortage of energy. For things where we only have to wave our wands ... I believe Lord Voldemort knows this. And if he is who I think he is then he is capable of making it right to the summit. Therefore it only makes sense to stick to him if one wants to advance to the top ...

By the way, this is something my parents don't really go along with. They share the views on pure blood sure enough and on marrying Muggles or allowing Muggle born or people with mixed heritage into wizard schools. But they would not want to leave the cover of their distinguished concealment and declare themselves. They lack the courage and the energy. Maybe even consistency when I come to think of my father.

But I want to be successful! And I believe that I have an eye for people who can help me on my path. I think it would only be intelligent and foresighted to get acquainted with Lord Voldemort.

ooOoo

**October 1st, 1980**

Dinner at the Malfoys' – successful evening, I presume. I was their guest several times before, seeing Narcissa is my cousin. But I haven't experienced an evening like the last one while I visited them. Maybe the dinner guests could be used to gauge the climate in our society. The fact that Lord Voldemort personally turns up for something like this dinner does say a lot.

Or am I wrong? Did I get this impression because I have been admitted into the according circles? Because the _Daily Prophet_ is still filled with bad reports about the Death Eaters and their leaders day for day, filled with warnings and causing panic. And often only rumours when they can't come with anything else. On the other hand I haven't seen this paper take a position on the Renewal Movement yet. And that should be difficult for them anyway if they don't want to put off a large number of their readers because it is a fact that very many people find the ideals of the Renewal at least worth considering.

I believe an explanation could be that folks don't see Death Eaters and the Renewal as the two sides of one medal which they really are.

To return to the topic – the dinner: About twenty persons were invited. I had seen some of them during various events. And then of course Lord Voldemort himself.

Most of those in attendance seemed to know each other already and I felt quite alone. I was very happy to find that Bellatrix was there, too. She is still the most beautiful woman I know. She seemed to be very well acquainted with the Lord.

(Even as a child, I was not able to take my eyes off her whenever she came to visit us. She is eight or nine years older than I am, I'm not exactly sure, and I was always fascinated by the difference between her and her sister Narcissa: One luscious, with black hair and dark eyes, full of passion; the other blond and slim, with blue eyes, just as beautiful in her own way but unapproachable and cool!)

But I'm getting off topic. During dinner they were politicizing as openly as I have never experienced it at Lucius' before. They talked about the possibility of a new Minister being in office shortly and about, with some luck, installing Berengar Purge (who himself was not present). That was new to me! Lydia's father does indeed have a high position in the Ministry, in the Department for International Magical Cooperation. He has been active in the Renewal for some time and is reputed to being a strict but upright man.

Although Lord Voldemort hardly participated in the discussion, he was the secret centre of the group. He was clearly the person to whom ideas were presented and who then decided independently what was to be made of them.

His contributions stood out because of his sharp analysis and the combination of the superior style of his statements and his evil humour which often came through, lending him this charisma and his very own charm.

He really fascinated me. Earlier in his life he must have been fairly good looking until injuries of some kind altered his face in a peculiar way. I can easily understand that some might feel intimidated by him – Narcissa for example seemed to duck down in his presence. An aura of power surrounds him, a force that seems unpredictable and therefore threatening.

I think that I have succeeded in showing him my interest in his ideas and plans. When I said good bye a while later, I asked Lucius in a spontaneous decision, to use his influence on my behalf: I'm interested to support him in a very special way. Lucius smiled somewhat ironically, maybe he thinks I'm too young, I don't know. But he promised that I would hear from him. Probably even before the end of the month ...

ooOoo

**October 8th, 1980**

I attended another meeting of the Renewal today. With regard to my further ambitions I am determined to show my interest by being present frequently.

The whole thing was held in the hall of a primary school this time and had a topic that fitted the location: Muggles and those with mixed blood – problems in coeducation. The way Rosalind Umbridge presented her speech was a bit dry but still somewhat elucidative. Many women were present, clearly mothers of school children – I think it is a good thing that ordinary people start to look into this topic. On one hand the Muggle problem does not exist in primary schools but Umbridge didn't limit her exposition to the lower school classes but found clear and strong words about the situation of subsequent education especially referring to Hogwarts – without explicitly naming the school.

This time I noticed people who stood in intervals along the walls and on closer inspection seemed like observers. I believe that Death Eaters take a close look at events such as this one – who attends, who speaks or otherwise participates. These observers are the people who distribute leaflets and other information at the end of the event. They recruit members for the Renewal Movement.

It did make me smile when I noticed the bored faces – they are probably used to stronger stuff than a speech against the joint education of pure bloods and children with inferior blood, and assignments such as recruiting members.

I'm quite certain that these people are Death Eaters albeit not leading members (on the other hand I heard that this organization doesn't have ranks, at least non that are official).

ooOoo

**October 30th, 1980**

I've been waiting eagerly the whole month, since Lucius hinted that my application was being considered, _favourably_ considered as he put it. I should hold myself ready at the end of the month.

Will the call of the Dark Lord by tomorrow also reach me? I so dearly wish to finally join them!

ooOoo

**October 31st, 1980, in the afternoon**

I had been asking myself how I would be notified –

This morning I found a short letter from Lucius on my desk, in which he asks me to his place at half past eight this evening. My heart was beating wildly with a sense of happiness because it was clear to me that this was the invitation I had been longingly waiting for all this time.

When my mother came in as usual to have tea and a conversation with me, I quickly hid the note under my books. I burned it later. Initially I should have gone along to have dinner with the Rathbones this evening – they are so boring and their cook is in most cases below mentioning! – but I had already spent some time working out an excuse, just in case it would turn true and I would have – well, _another_ invitation at Halloween.

I'm full of anticipation. What am I to expect? Up to now I only know Lucius who I quite certainly believe to be a member of the league. Or is it only due to his outspokenness about his views and because he always talks about the superiority of pure blood?

As pre-mentioned, this has of late become more and more acceptable in good society. As I see it, it is high time – every history book bears witness to the fact, I think: Open it where-ever you like; behind every great achievement, behind every fundamental act stands a pure blood.

In this aspect, thanks to Dumbledore, the years at Hogwarts create an artificial reality for the students because he doesn't place the least significance on descent or blood.

He has always admitted any witch or wizard so that the school is filled with Muggle born and children with mixed blood. And because his word is law there, the teachers are urged to keep a balance between pure bloods and others in their assessments. On the outside one could get the impression that intellect and aptitude were spread quite evenly between the two groups. But I was not tricked to believe this anymore in the past few years. Since I left school and increasingly found myself associating with more mature and better-informed wizards, I find myself seeing clearly now. Meanwhile, when attending a social gathering, I can determine who is of pure blood and who is not with a hundred percent certainty. Geoffrey, Lydia and I have been amusing ourselves with this game for weeks.

It's too bad that Geoffrey is to such an extent under his parents' thumb. They threatened to disown him in case he decided to join the union. And in Lydia's case – well, to be honest, I wouldn't want her to participate. I'm quite happy if she shares my views – but I don't particularly like women getting involved in political matters.

I've strayed from the topic. I explained to mother that I will be going to a dinner at Egbert Dennehy's from the Genealogical Society. That was indeed my original intent – I really made some head-way in my work last week! But of course THIS is more important now.

All rumours that I have heard of the Dark Order have been jumbling about in my head since this morning. Is it true that they are naked when they meet, only wearing masks?! I hope someone only made that up – maybe caused by some old stories about witch gatherings or so!

I've kept asking myself where the gatherings of the Death Eaters are held and how many members they really have. According to rumours they are already represented at the Ministry.

It's shortly past five now. More than three hours to go! I'm wondering what to wear. Is there anything I should take along?

ooOoo

**November 1st, 1980**

I'm a new person. Finally! Finally Lord Voldemort has found me worthy of acceptance to his union.

I'm still shivering! Previous evening – yesterday night I should rather say because it was nearly half past two this morning as I returned! – totally overwhelmed me. HE has already assigned a task to me and that flatters me, the more so as it is a task that coincides with my interests and talents – may I assume that HE knows where my strengths lie – that he is interested in my personality –?

It was an enormous experience that changed me. At first it was my head that told me the Dark Lord is on the right path. Now it is my heart as well – my whole self. I would never have expected it but that is the way it is. I think that is all I'm capable of writing on this today.

ooOoo

**November 2nd, 1980**

What a disillusioning day yesterday turned out to be!

Mother was somewhat startled that I'm so enthusiastic. Got upset about the tattoo and insisted that I get Rathbone to have a look at my arm.

As could be expected, father was totally beside himself with annoyance. Thought it an act of utter stupidity and gave me a thorough tongue lashing. Said that I had ruined my chances for the future with what I had done. Slughorn would now no longer use his influence on my behalf, it being general knowledge that he never got connected to any extremes. Fine by me. I'll get by without the assistance of this prim old spinster. (Uncle Alphard – MY godfather by the way!! – leaving all of his fortune to my brother was far worse. Allegedly because he seemed to be the only independent mind in our family ... Sirius, the show-off, of all people!)

So I was harshly torn out of my rapture, making it more important for me to here and now record my acceptance into the Dark Order.

I apparated to the Malfoy estate a little more than half an hour before nine and rang their doorbell. The house elf opened the door and excitedly explained to me that his master didn't have time at the moment, the baby being ill and the healer present at the moment and –

Luckily Lucius came down the stairs just then, already wearing his hooded cape and clearly in a hurry. Narcissa followed him, more upset than I had ever seen her, she called after him, asking him to stay. Lucius answered he was sorry but that it wasn't possible and came out to where I stood, wearing a strained expression. The house elf received a correspondingly angry reprimand (Lucius is not exactly the most gentle ...) and hurried away.

„The baby is ailing again," said Lucius. „In such cases Narcissa is always beside herself. Regretfully I can't always take that into consideration."

As we had left the house behind us, he said: „We should now apparate. Take my arm!"

„I can apparate on my own. I've got a licence!"

„You cannot yet apparate to where we're going, believe me, Regulus," said Lucius impatiently. „Come on now. Take my arm! No-one keeps the Dark Lord waiting!"

So I obeyed and apparated together with him to –

It was like a shock: coming from the field path at the Malfoy-Estate and being thrust into such a strange surrounding. It was a cave lit by numerous torches held in brackets on the walls. Slowly I began to realize when we got back on our feet that we were standing on an island in the middle of a subterranean lake. Straight in front of us was a basin made of black stone and behind it stood Lord Voldemort himself.

As I took a careful look around, I noticed that on the shore beyond the water were many figures in hooded capes, unmoving, with their faces masked, one next to the other. Seeing them felt stifling, their number which I was too nervous to estimate contributed to this feeling. Apparently I was the next although not the first topic on their agenda because I doubted that such a number of followers would gather just for the admission of one further member.

Suddenly I noticed the heavily scented air that inhibited my breathing. When I turned back to Lord Voldemort I recognized the tall figure next to him was certainly Bellatrix. Those were her eyes that sparkled from behind the mask.

„My friends!" Lord Voldemort exclaimed. „My friends, here is someone who requests admission to our union. Who vouches for him?" He turned to us with this question.

„I, Lucius Malfoy, vouch for him," Lucius replied. He was still standing next to me, holding my arm.

„Who is it that requests admission?"

„His name is Regulus Alphard Black, he originates from an esteemed family of the purest blood," Lucius replied and I was glad that he had prevented me from answering myself, as I was about to do, by tightening his grip on my arm.

„Well, Regulus, do you want to be a Death Eater?" now he really asked me and the dark fire from his peculiar eyes seemed to burn its' way into me.

„Yes, I do," I replied, relieved that my voice didn't fail me.

„Speak up, my friends! Tell him what the duties of Death Eaters are!"

„We eat death from the hand of our Master," it sounded as a hollow chorus all around. „Our enemy is death but the death of our enemies is our power. Our blood will live eternally. From the hand of our Master we eat death ..."

It was barbaric but still it touched some deepest depths in a strange way. I can't even exactly say what it was supposed to mean but I felt how one chill after the other ran through me as I looked into this vast round, hearing the determined voices. Yes, I absolutely wanted to be a part of this!

„Regulus Alphard Black, do you want to become a member of the Death Eaters and to commit you body and soul to this union?" Lord Voldemort asked me again.

„Yes! That is what I want!" I replied from the bottom of my heart.

Then he waved his wand over the black basin and I noticed that it was formed like the coiled body of a giant snake. The dark liquid therein ignited with a flapping sound. The rising flame was so dark, it was hardly visible but the heat radiated powerfully. He beckoned Bellatrix to come nearer.

She held something in her hand that I immediately recognised as a branding iron. Was I afraid? Yes, I was afraid because I am a man of books and not accustomed to pain. On the other hand, this scene was so enticing that it lifted me above myself and swept me away. That is why I didn't flinch once when they indicated that I was to put my arm on the edge of the basin. There my arm was instantly bound down by two black snakes which wound out of the stone.

Bellatrix dipped the iron into the burning liquid. It sizzled and green steam billowed in heavy and intoxicating clouds. When she took the iron out again, the end glowed with green fire. I saw the echo of this flame in her eyes as she pressed the iron on the sensitive skin of my forearm and I could do nothing but scream.

This horrible pain! It felt as though it was sinking and lodging into every part of my body. The smell of burnt flesh – _my_ flesh! – reached my nose and I nearly fainted. At that moment Lucius gave me a cup and I drank. From then on I still felt the pain but at the same time I seemed to glide on it as I might on a breathtaking wave.

I only remember a number of short impressions from the remaining evening. I was now a Death Eater and had received hooded cloak and mask. We celebrated and drank and sang. Was that still in that cave? I believe to recall the dark water beneath us as if we had all been on a hovering stage above it, sitting at tables. Bellatrix kissed me, also something I recall, and the way she laughed when I wanted to hold on to her. My clearest memory though was of Severus Snape, of all people – did he really participate? In any case, I see him standing at the edge of this suspended plane, staring down into the water in which now and then movement like from big fish could be seen in the depths.

Now I'm back again, in the house where my mother rules and is applying salve to my arm and where Kreacher creeps around me with his plates of chicken soup ...

ooOoo

**November 4th, 1980**

I'm a bit surprised about the kind of assignment HE gave me. I have to draw up the genealogical trees of Frank and Alice Longbottom as well as James and Lily Potter, née Evans. The person he is especially interested in – lo and behold – is Lily Evans!

I know the Evans – as well as Potter – from back at school: She originates from Muggles (!), Gryffindor, very pretty and allegedly quite bright but as mentioned before, I don't trust the evaluations. Hogwarts' teachers are not free to grade as they would like.

She is two years older than I am and married James Potter, my brother's close buddy, two years ago, shortly after they finished school. As far as I know they just had a baby but I'm not completely sure because I hardly get to see Sirius anymore. The Potters, by the way, are pure-bloods – or at least they were until James put them to shame.

Father repeatedly told me – incidentally, the first time when I had just turned thirteen! – you can be friends with people of mixed blood, fall in love with one of them – sleep with her, for all I care – but never, never beget a child with her or even marry her. Mother nearly flipped out when she heard this line. In her mind I shouldn't even speak to people of mixed blood or muggle-born.

Good old mum sometimes is quite obsessed! Sirius had screamed at her, back then, that she was crazy and needed treatment but I don't agree. She's just got this thing about pure blood but otherwise she's completely normal. But, as I came to notice in the past days, even this tick doesn't reach so far as to see her happy that her son is a Death Eater! Although, deep in her heart, I believe that she is proud that I showed myself this firm.

And again I have strayed from the topic! Lily Evans was the topic, the little muggle-trollop that got herself a pure-blood – and from one of the oldest families at that! – and now, for some reason has even captured the Dark Lord's interest.

I might have also gathered from the school year-book what I was able to learn up to now: Her parents were Edward and Persephone Evans, whose maiden name was Williams, both Muggle, both archaeologists, both missing since an excavation in the Iraq in autumn 1977.

Frank and Alice Longbottom are pure bloods as well as James Potter; it shouldn't be difficult to find their ancestors.

But of course I would like to know what use the Dark Lord has for a Muggle genealogical tree. It is already clear to me that the Evans will be the most important part of this study. Thanks to the Genealogical Society I have access to expertise – even from the Muggles – that will be of assistance. Tomorrow I will work in the GS's library.

By the way, as far as I can tell so far, the only thing both couples have in common is that three of the four are aurors (though the Potters could hardly have finished their training yet). This probably has some relevance as well ...

Despite all of the energy I put into the rewriting of _Nature's Nobility_, it will probably be many years before it can be published. But if I can achieve this, long lasting fame will certainly be mine. And that is in any case more than my overbearing brother can claim for himself. According to the rumours I've heard, he's doing the small time, travelling around with a band, performing as their singer and going by the name of Stubby Boardman! Can you believe it! If mum would hear of this she would need a healer, that's for sure!

ooOoo

**November 5th, 1980**

This morning I submitted a request from the Genealogical Society to the Ministry, asking permission to inspect the records on my four Objects. Then I turned to the British Museum for information on the two missing Evans'. Luckily this is not my first contact with the museum and the executive secretary, Monica McIntyre, is one of us. I'm sure she will be able to help me. It's quite useful that it is already known that I'm working on rewriting the main volume on Genealogy. This insures that no-one will take much notice of such enquiries and generally they assist me without asking questions ...

During the afternoon I was then able to gather a rather large number of photos of Lily Evans. Sources are the year-books and other school publications but for example also a picture from the _Daily Prophet_ that even wrote a few lines about James Potter's wedding. The woman is really a beauty, something that cannot be denied. I have even – there is no taboo to a researching mind! – told Kreacher to dig through some of Sirius' stuff and it was worth it. He retrieved an excellent photo of their wedding. Sirius is on it, too, of course, he was best man. Wearing a really fat grin.

**Evening**

It's unbelievable what I found out! Lily Evans wears Nordic Zingwings made of silver, as ear rings on her wedding photo! This might have no meaning for someone who is not a genealogist but I immediately recognized that this particular depiction shows the heraldic animal of the Peverells!

Well, there was a bit of good luck in this, I have to admit as much: Although I am often concerned with coats of arms, it is more a coincidence that I noticed this detail because I had been pondering over the comparison of the coats of arms of the Peverells and the de Longvilles last night.

Where did Evans get these jewels from? The Peverells are one of the oldest wizard families – by Merlin, Salazar Slytherin was married to a Peverell! I vaguely remember that at the time, the Peverell family had just arrived on the British Isles but had already been a wizard family in France for generations.

So now I have a trace and maybe even an indication why Lord Voldemort is interested in Lily Evans. I'm to present my first report about my investigation to him soon. I was already worried that I would have to turn up empty handed. But now –

I will have to tell Lydia that I can't meet her and spend the night leafing through books!

ooOoo

**November 6th, 1980**

There was another surprise today! Came across an old acquaintance from school again – in HIS house, of all places!

I had been called to Lord Voldemort because he had a job for me – more about that later – and when Benson escorted me to the door again, I saw someone standing at the other end of the corridor (at the kitchen door, as it turned out). Even in the poorly lit corridor I noticed her wild mop of hair. I just had to walk over and convince myself because it seemed completely absurd that she should really be there. So I turned back, clearly causing Benson to become uneasy, and walked along the passage-way.

And the woman standing at the kitchen door and talking to the staff was actually Hekate Harper from Ravenclaw! My eyes nearly popped out of my head although she greeted me wearing the same cheeky grin I remembered on her. As if it was nothing special to meet some old school mate in the kitchen of Lord Voldemort.

She was in the same year I was, a clever, spirited girl. Liked playing pranks. Stole old Cassander's crystal ball back then – got the old lady so worked up that lessons where cancelled for a week. She probably spent the time searching ...

If I remember correctly there was also a less humorous matter in third year which involved Hekate – something was missing from the trophy room after she had been polishing (surely a punishment for some thing or other that she'd been up to) the valuable exhibits. She was accused of having stolen this object – I believe it even was something from Ravenclaw. Although that piece never turned up again, Hekate was rehabilitated, so to speak, as a house elf was found with a considerable stock of stolen items.

Oh well, school time gossip! To me it seems so long ago – although I've only been out of Hogwarts since June!

By the way, she was the person who tied all the Slytherin team shirts to the school flag on the Astronomy tower, like a tail to a dragon, after Ravenclaw beat Slytherin. She really was a little beast.

As it turned out, her mother – Benson – has been working as a house keeper for the Lord for many years! At school nobody knew about this. Aside from her cheek, Hekate always was a typical Ravenclaw (also in the Slug-Club by the way!) – if they had known that her mother was the Dark Lord's house keeper! Hekate told me that that had been strictly kept secret so that she wouldn't have been at a disadvantage because of it. Not even Dumbledore had known.

So Hekate is also a half blood, quite a pity really because I've always liked her despite her awfully sloppy way of dressing! (Her vivacity and this wild shock of chestnut coloured curls!) But her father was only a squib who had worked as a gardener for the Longevilles until he died last year.

This again shows that it sometimes takes the unspent and foreign blood to get some fresh green on the twigs of a withering family tree. As a genealogist I cannot avoid noting this fact even though the consequences are irritating to the concept of a pure blood society.

She didn't explicitly say but I think her parents weren't even married ...

**Addendum**

Afterwards I realized that Hekate could hardly just drop in at her mother's employer as I had initially assumed – his house is protected by the Fidelius charm and I couldn't even lead my own mother there if he didn't give his consent. That makes her presence even more puzzling.

ooOoo

**November 7th, 1980**

I didn't get around to recounting Lord Voldemort's assignment. I will catch up with it today.

By the way, he uses the dark mark to call his Death Eaters. It is a painful, burning sensation that increases in intensity, the longer someone takes to arrive. In my case it was even a _compulsion_ for me to apparate to him. He more or less pulled me to his house that I had not visited previously. Maybe I would not have realized that he had summoned me because the mark is still burning and quite painful despite mothers salve.

I don't know if this is the customary procedure but in this case he called us Death Eaters to him one by one to give us the order to be present at a certain address at 7 pm and wait there for further instructions.

So I apparated, wearing my mask and the new hooded cloak, feeling a little queer, like a kid in a game of dressing-up. But that ended when I joined the group that was waiting in the shadows. There were about twenty, all of them in masks and cloaks, silent. Nearby, in a large and well lit house a large party seemed to be in full swing. When everyone had arrived – I was second to last – the person in command gave us the order to attack the house, disturb the celebration and just take the place apart a bit. It was the wedding of a witch with a Muggle and we were to set a warning example.

I sure felt queer at that point – being a person who never resorted to violence but always hunched over my books, I was now to burst into this festivity and just wreak any amount of havoc! But once we got moving, the cloaks, the anonymity and the group dynamics added up to make things run smoothly. No-one knew who the others were when we attacked the house, upturning tables and side-boards, dangling a few people up in the air where they hung, screaming and helpless – that sure was a sight! For the first time I DID something to express my convictions – not delivering a civilized and tame speech but wielding my wand against this stupid scum. Their horrified faces inexplicably triggered my wrath. I assume that all of us felt similarly.

When we finally gathered outside, the house was burning and the guests rushed out into the night, screaming and dashing around aimlessly. I nearly had a feeling of intoxication, standing there in the darkness while the wavering glow and the sparks of the rapidly growing fire illuminated this chaotic scene.

Then the group broke up silently, everyone apparated back to where they had come from. I've never felt as strong and powerful as during that hour.

ooOoo

**November 8th, 1980**

I have uncovered sensational results in my research! The other night while I was working my way along my book cases, looking for books that would help me trace the hint I had on the Peverells, I came across _Heraldic Animals in Graphic Art _written by Paulina Beasting. It contained a short reference to the Peverell ear pendants which have apparently been considered missing for many years. As it seems, they were to some extent known to people of the arts and crafts and there is supposed to be an article about these pendants in one of the corresponding periodicals. For my purposes the fact sufficed for the time being that the last legitimate owner was Lawrence Gaunt! He only had one daughter, Pandora, who married her cousin Marvolo Gaunt. This couple had two children, Morfin and Merope.

That's fair enough as far as it goes but Morfin died without leaving children and nobody knows what happened to Pandora and her daughter Merope. This is as detailed as the family trees in _Nature's Nobility_ get – the Gaunt family was followed closely because they are the only surviving descendants of Salazar Slytherin!! (I already knew this family tree from our own – Lawrence Gaunt's mother, Charlotte Peverell, was the sister of Aunt Elladora who left the tasteless stuffed elf heads as a continued commemoration...)

How do I get from Pandora or Merope Gaunt who was possibly the last owner of the pendants to Lily Evans-Potter, of all people – whose predecessors where obviously of purely Muggle origin –? I could just assume that she had received the jewellery as a gift and it has no further connection to her. But this lead is intriguing especially in the light of the Lord's interest. It HAS to have some significance!

Regretfully, it will still take a few days until the details from the Muggle authorities are available to me.

ooOoo

**November 12th, 1980**

I've about completed the Longbottom family tree – five generations back that was the order. It remained without surprises. With the Potters, the assumption that Lord Voldemort had indicated, was confirmed: Through his mother, Artemis Pepperleaf, he is really connected to one of the ancestral lines that apparently have a justified claim to being descendants of Godric Gryffindor. A fascinating detail!

I'm still waiting for further documents in the Evans matter.

I am eagerly looking forward to the dinner invitation to Lord Voldemort tomorrow evening!

ooOoo

**November 14th, 1980**

Lydia is acting up again. I've really started to find it quite tiring. She wants a huge wedding with all the trimmings before she even considers allowing more than a few little kisses in the dark. Which century are we living in?? I don't have the intention of settling down with a wife or possibly even a family just yet!

Well, anyway I was totally nerved yesterday. The invitation for the evening was just what I needed. I was quite excited, wondering what such a social gathering with HIM would be like. Well, the house is rather plain, isn't it. Something I don't really understand. As far as I know he has the magical power to make it into an adequate residence and is not lacking financial means either. The latter might only be a rumour. Be that as it may, I was excited. A formal dinner with guests like Lucius Malfoy who is really highbrow.

And it turned out to be an evening full of surprises! Lord Voldemort didn't disappoint us! I only regret that Lydia wasn't present because she had made some derisive remarks about my work lately. She calls our association a little, sinister men's club etc. (Of course I didn't tell her that I joined the Death Eaters, she believes that I've advanced into the inner circle of the Renewal Movement. So far I have been able to keep her from seeing the dark mark.)

It's true, ladies are rather rare among the Death Eaters but to be honest – what use would a woman be within this group? In any case, some ladies were present yesterday evening. And that was not the only surprise.

The house was sparkling clean, no more worn out seats or threadbare carpets. We could already tell from outside – you always apparate to the front stairs somehow – that there was a lot more light on than usually.

Lord Voldemort is probably an excellent wizard even outside the topics he specializes in! At least there now was an acceptable dining room with a long table at which all the guests – somewhere around an impressive number of forty people – easily found room, all laid out with flowers, candles and the finest china. Up to now nothing had indicated that he even notices things like that. This time, apart from Benson, there were also two house elves which did their work in an orderly and professional manner. The food was really good; there was music, entertainment and a really excellent wine.

Lucius came without Narcissa. Apparently their son Draco, nearly six months old, still hasn't completely recovered.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus also attended. Since she branded me with the dark mark, I see her in a different light. A very beautiful woman with a tendency to being cruel, something I hadn't noticed before. I don't know which feeling is stronger: Excitation or disgust. I also noticed another thing about her yesterday: apparently her sole or even her foremost passion is not for the Death Eaters' aims but rather for Lord Voldemort himself. During the whole evening she devoured him with her eyes and didn't pay much attention to her husband.

The greatest surprise – at least for me – was Hekate. I had already realized that with regard to the Fidelius charm concealing the house, she could hardly be only the daughter of the house keeper and just happened to be in the house of her mother's employer.

But then she sat there at the table yesterday, wearing a staggeringly beautiful deep blue silk dress and had her mop of curls done up in a lady like fashion, moving through the conversation with an irresistible, malicious charm – I have to confess, I was swept off my feet. Nobody would have thought of a squib and a Muggle being her parents! I have a feeling she might have even impressed mother – and father anyway.

As amazing as all this was and as much as the transition from the negligently dressed Cinderella during our school days to this lady of society was fascinating, most remarkable seemed to me, the way she and Lord Voldemort interacted. The other guests already seemed acquainted to this.

She – the daughter of the house keeper and on the other hand Benson in her apron, more or less standing next to her! – didn't act like a guest but seemed more like the mistress of the house, and Lord Voldemort who is not exactly renown for his homely, friendly or confidential way with other people, was acting towards her more like an uncle with his favourite niece. It felt somewhat eerie.

I regret to admit that I was hardly able to take my eyes from her. How did she get to be so familiar with HIM?

In the end she even engaged me in a conversation about Hogwarts, the old times and my book project about which she was quite well informed. After that we just watched the others and gossiped a bit. For example about Severus Snape who we both knew from school and who was also present yesterday evening. (A further surprise by the way, I had meanwhile learned that he had also joined the Death Eaters but I had no idea that he had risen so high in the ranks that Lord Voldemort would invite him to dinner! On the other hand, in the Academy of the Occult Arts, co-founded by Lucius two years ago, he is considered something like a prodigy.)

Snape always involuntarily is the topic of gossip and entertainment. He can't converse but he doesn't even try either. If, as yesterday evening, he does attend a social gathering or a dinner, he invokes something like a black hole in the corners he prefers to linger. In his proximity, conversation and laughter cease. To be quite honest, one could even lose any appetite. When you see him sitting there with his greasy, unkempt hair, those HORRIBLE clothes and his always sombre expression – the guy just turned twenty, what can get a person to be such a sod?

Allegedly his mother died a short while ago. But he always kept to himself at school, too. Even all of us in the lower years knew him. If you irritated him, you ran the risk of getting hexed by him. Preferably he used his own creations – was quite famous for those. First years took off if they only saw him.

Even my brother couldn't stand him; he and James Potter chased him like a rabbit. There was also a rumour about a heavy brawl amongst them during a lesson (as far as I heard it was during potions with Slughorn) but it wasn't confirmed.

Well, Snape is really vicious but that is no news.

What I find humorous is – Hekate and I amused ourselves with the observation yesterday evening – that some women apparently find him attractive. All this sinister ardour and such! There sat Melissa Rockwood, Augustus Rockwood's daughter – by the way, one of the few Death Eaters that have managed to get into the ministry and are doing quite well there – well, Melissa Rockwood, cute and barely sixteen years old, sat across from our friend Severus during dinner and couldn't avert her eyes. Went all smiley and chirpy and kept trying to engage him in a conversation but of course she failed miserably. He was curt, unfriendly and in the end downright impolite. Then he managed to knock over his wine glass and splash some of the wine on his neighbour. When he tried to let the mess vanish, he nearly set the sleeve of his robe on fire over a candle – that was when Melissa blushed and gave up.

It is just his lack of CLASS and style along with a talent to make a complete fool of himself at the wrong moment which always gets him into such a fiasco. Bad luck for him!

To get back to Hekate Harper – I fear that by the end of the evening I had arranged to see her again ... We will meet tomorrow; I invited her to have lunch with me at the Genealogical Society. Now I'm sitting here asking myself, what the heck am I up to! If Lydia finds out, she'll flip out. And that is something I should avoid happening with the daughter of the person who might be the next Minister.

oooOooo

Hermione looked up. She had some trouble finding her way out of the world described in the book. Harry also stopped reading.

„This is unbelievable!" he finally said.

Hermione nodded. „But we have to stop now. It's already late and Ron will be wondering what is keeping us. And I have to work on my application. I've neglected it for days now. Sounds stupid after all of this," she added. „But that's the way it is." She stood up and stretched. „And you should go to Ron and show him the diary. That's really important," she said. „Let's continue reading later on. Maybe in the common room."

He nodded. Thinking of Ron weighed heavy on his stomach. „Hermione! Wait!"

She was already at the door. He jumped from his seat and pulled her back. She shook her head.

„Then tell me what we're supposed to do!" he whispered.

„I don't know," she replied.


End file.
